Enemies Disguised as Enemies
by Icy Mike Molson
Summary: The Gangrel mercenary K.T. Corben gets more than he bargained for when he takes a job against anarchs in San Francisco...


Enemies Disguised as Enemies  
  
The characters of Archon, Cash, Shelly, Julian, and Stevie Ray are owned by Spelling Television. This story is loosely based on the setting of the short lived television series Kindred: The Embraced. Gangrel, Brujah, Ventrue, Toreador, Sabbat, and all other references to Vampire: the Masquerade are owned by White Wolf Publishing. I am not challenging their ownership rights.  
  
Special thanks to Obi-Norm, who has me to thank for the creation of Johnny Yashida, and for helping me revise this story. Slainte to my chief(and only) editor.  
  
I  
  
Dark clouds had gathered overhead, completely obscuring the crescent moon hanging over San Francisco on a forbidding early September night. With the turn of the decade only a few months away, the first preparations to celebrate the coming 1990s were just starting to take place in the city. The Haven was one such place planning one of many celebrations that would take place to celebrate the new decade in style, but that was hardly the reason why K.T. Corben was walking into the posh night club. He knew how out of place he was as he walked past the throngs of people waiting to get inside, sharply contrasting their expensive suits and dresses with his battered brown duster and faded jeans. He was aware of the stares he was eliciting as people stopped to consider the long blond hair he hadn't bothered to tie back and the stubble that marred his features, a stark difference from their well groomed, up to the minute hairstyles and neatly trimmed mustaches; most of these people weren't even old enough to grow in their beards completely. He started down the stairs that led to the dimly lit underground club, but two burly men immediately stepped in front of him.  
  
"You can wait in line, just like everyone else," one of the bouncers said, his arms folded across his barrel chest.  
  
"I'm here to see Archon," K.T. informed the bouncer. Immediately the other man waved his companion off.  
  
"Step inside, no cover," he said quickly. K.T. nodded his thanks, aware of the disbelieving and somewhat angry stares being leveled at him. Out of place, he nonetheless walked into the crowded club as if no one noticed him, passing by tables and cliques of the trendiest San Francisco had to offer. After a moment of scanning the room, a large man with long reddish hair, looking almost as out of place as K.T., pushed his way through the crowd towards him. Finally, the two were face to face, and the man nodded.  
  
"K.T. Corben?" he asked gruffly.  
  
"You Archon?" K.T. inquired. The man shook his head and smoothed out the thick beard he wore; he seemed to be more at home as a biker than someone who would be wandering around The Haven.  
  
"Name's Stevie Ray," the red haired man said. "Archon will meet you somewhere less public. Follow me."  
  
K.T. followed Stevie Ray through the crowds past the long bar situated against the wall opposite the entrance, then through a door marked "No Admittance" set into one wall. Inside the door, the pair started up a narrow staircase to a second door, this one of plain black wood. Stevie Ray knocked twice on it, and then waited for a long moment.  
  
"Enter," someone said from inside. Stevie Ray pushed the door open, and gestured for K.T. to walk inside. After a slight hesitation, the blond haired man did so.  
  
Sitting at a desk in a room that most likely wasn't his was an imposing looking, obviously Italian man, his silver hair showing only a few streaks of black. Still, the man looked extremely fit, and K.T. was certain he would give anyone a good fight.  
  
"K.T. Corben, I assume," the man said. "My name is Archon. I'm prince of San Francisco."  
  
"I'm pleased to meet you," K.T. said, still looking a bit disinterested with the entire situation. Archon noted it, and smiled a little.  
  
"A businessman, I can tell," the prince said. "Please. Have a seat while I explain to you why I called you here."  
  
K.T. sat down, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at Stevie Ray. The prince's enforcer simply looked him over, emotionless. Archon pulled a small manila envelope from a drawer in his desk, and opened it up.  
  
"The first autarkis I've ever heard of that decided to become a freelance mercenary," Archon said with a bit of a grin. "You come well recommended. The prince of Charleston still thinks highly of you."  
  
"Thank you," K.T. said with measured indifference, wanting to get past the prince's mandatory show of friendliness. Archon nodded.  
  
"Good," he said. "I'm not very into this whole 'I'm your friend' thing. I have a job for you to do. As you may have noticed, the entire west coast is a haven for anarchs. Only I have held out against this threat from the rabble. However, this has become very taxing. I want you to help me make this less taxing."  
  
"How would I do that?" K.T. asked. "In case you haven't noticed, anarchs can be fairly tough sons of bitches. One Gangrel isn't going to stop them."  
  
"If you go in guns blazing, no," Archon said. "I want you to go in undercover. All I want you to do is gather information. Where are they coming from, how many are there, and what their plans are. I've noticed something of an increase in anarch activities over the last two years. I will not ring in 1990 by losing San Francisco."  
  
"That it?" K.T. asked. Archon shook his head.  
  
"I believe they're being supplied by someone more organized," the prince said. "My guess is that the primogen of the Brujah, Eddie Fiori, is behind it. I want proof enough to have him extinguished."  
"I'll get proof of whoever's behind it," K.T. said. "Whether or not it's this Fiori, I won't promise you the opportunity you want."  
  
"I might be able to make it worth your while," Archon said.  
  
"And people wonder why I walked out of the Camarilla," K.T. grumbled. "I have scruples."  
  
"But obviously not enough scruples to prevent yourself from working for murderous bastards like the Sabbat," Stevie Ray said from behind. K.T. turned to him.  
  
"At least they don't stab each other in the back quite as much as the Camarilla," the younger man retorted. Archon held up a hand.  
  
"We are not here to judge past deeds," the prince said. "Will you take the job?"  
  
"What's the going rate?" K.T. inquired.  
  
"One million dollars," Archon said. "A minor boon from me. And safe passage through this city for as long as I am prince, once your mission is over."  
  
"That doesn't help me now," K.T. said. "Are you going to be using me for target practice?"  
  
"The less people that know about this, the better," Archon said. "Right now, I trust you, me, and Mister Ray with this little secret. I want your act to be as convincing as possible. It would be fairly obvious what was going on if the anarchs noticed that no one was aiming at you."  
  
"If I get shot at, I shoot to kill," K.T. said. Archon smiled a little.  
  
"Who can make an omelet without breaking eggs?" he inquired. K.T. nodded.  
  
"Do I have a starting point?" the Gangrel asked.  
  
"We know of someone you might be able to trace back to the anarchs," Archon replied. "A small time thief in North Beach named Joe Iviglio. If not for the fact that we risk an anarch outcry, he'd have been dead years ago. We can give you his picture and address, if you wish. Any other questions?"  
  
"Just hang out, get some info, and get out," K.T. summed up, trying to figure out the catch to all of this.  
  
"That's all you have to do," Archon agreed.  
  
"Alright," the mercenary said. "I'll do it. But for one and a half million."  
  
"What would a drifter like you do with that money?" Archon inquired.  
  
"Make sure it can't be stolen from you in the future," K.T. replied. "Now do we have a deal?"  
  
"I'm sure one and a quarter could be arranged," Archon said.  
  
"Then you'll have to agree to one more term," K.T. said. Archon arched an eyebrow.  
  
"What would that be?" the prince requested.  
  
"You'll have to replace my duster if it gets shredded," the mercenary informed him. Archon grinned widely, and extended his hand.  
  
"Done," he said. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Corben. Mister Ray, please show Mister Corben to the back entrance."  
  
"As you wish," Stevie Ray said. K.T. stood up, and followed the older man through the door.  
  
"I knew I recognized the name," Stevie Ray said once the door had closed behind the two men. "You low life, heartless bastard."  
  
"I take it you're a Gangrel too," K.T. said. Stevie Ray nodded.  
  
"I know your sire," the older man said. K.T. nodded, a look of realization coming across his face.  
  
"Well don't believe everything Ty says," K.T. informed the man. "He doesn't like me very much because I wouldn't play ball his way. I have more scruples than any vampire in the city, most likely. It looks like you settled down enough to play Ventrue power games."  
  
"Fuck you, neonate," Stevie Ray growled. "At least I don't fight for nothing more than the almighty dollar. You're nothing more than a Ventrue that can grow claws."  
  
"I'm not here to start a philosophical argument," K.T. said as the pair reached the bottom of the steps. "You want that, I met a real interesting Brujah that debates philosophy all the time in San Jose. Go there."  
  
"Siding with anarchs and the Sabbat," Stevie Ray said, the anger in his voice obvious. He turned away from the door that led into the club, and led the younger Gangrel through a narrow, dim hall. "By the way, I'll be throwing you rather roughly out the door. That was Archon's idea, to make sure that no one realizes you're working for him. Let me just say that I won't mind doing it."  
  
"You're so kind," K.T. muttered sarcastically. As they reached the door, Stevie Ray suddenly grabbed him with an almost unbelievable strength. "Hey, watch it! Let me the fuck go!"  
  
Stevie Ray let him go. Right through the back door of The Haven. The Gangrel bounced and skidded to a stop on the other side of the alley, smacking up against the wall with a thump. Stevie Ray dusted off his hands, and smiled maliciously at K.T.  
  
"You have an hour to get out of the city, anarch," Stevie Ray ordered. "If I catch you here after that, I'll have you strung up to wait for the sun."  
  
"Come get me, you low life son of a bitch!" K.T. challenged, climbing back to his feet and reaching under his duster. Stevie Ray laughed.  
  
"Don't make me hurt you, boy," the larger Gangrel said. Then he slammed the door shut. K.T. thought about putting a bullet through the door for effect, then decided not to go overboard in his acting. After another moment of muttering some choice curses under his breath, the Gangrel started off into the night, listening to the thunder begin to rumble in the clouds overhead.  
  
  
II  
  
He had been in San Francisco for almost a week now, watching and waiting. The night life of the town was getting especially raucous for this time of year; the scores of bars, restaurants, night clubs, and all night stores were packed until well after midnight with the seeming influx of tourists or the desire of the inhabitants of San Francisco to get out and party before the eighties came to a close. Of course, he was on the streets for any reason but the festivities. He had started out with one lead, Joe Iviglio. So far the thief, probably a young Brujah sired and quickly orphaned by a Brujah accepted in the hierarchy of San Francisco, had led him all over town from the Cannery at the north end of North Beach to the southern streets of the Market District, and east as far as Van Ness Avenue. Only twice had he even made any contact with the anarchs of San Fran, but K.T. now had a pretty good idea of where to find any kind of stolen or illegal item he could possibly want.  
  
But tonight seemed to be different. Joe had come all the way out to Third Street in the Bayview area, possibly the worst part of the entire city. The anarch walked down the huge thoroughfare, all six lanes busy even after midnight, and stopped in front of a pawn shop only a block from Army Street. After hesitating a moment and looking around, Joe knocked twice, then three more times on the door. It was promptly opened and the thief disappeared inside.  
  
K.T. waited for a long moment, then walked up to the pawn shop himself. It was dark inside as he continued slowly past, but he caught a momentary flicker as another door was opened and closed in the back. The Gangrel continued past the store and turned down an alley at the edge of the building, looking over the crumbling brick wall of the three story structure. Small windows ran along the side of the building just over his head. Walking calmly up to one of them, K.T. strained in vain to hear anything over the roar of the trucks on Third Street. Finally, without any other course of action, he walked back out onto Third Street and up to the door. Carefully, he knocked twice, then three more times. After a long moment, the door opened to reveal a man who looked like something out of the Summer of Love. Long, unkempt brown hair ran down his back almost to his waist, and blue glasses obscured his eyes from view. He looked at K.T. for a long moment before saying anything, wiping his hands nervously on his dirty bell bottomed jeans and oversized tye-dye shirt.  
  
"Who are you?" he finally asked.  
  
"K.T.," the Gangrel replied. "I'm a friend of Joe's. He said to stop by tonight."  
  
"Right, I can dig it," the man said, smiling. "A friend of Joe's. Joe who?"  
  
"Joe Iviglio," K.T. said. "He's in Acquisitions. I'm part of the Sales division."  
  
"Oh, that Joe," the man said. "Yeah, come on in. I'm Dave. Joe's never mentioned you before."  
  
"That's because I decided some time ago not to have people throwing my name around," K.T. lied, amazed at how easy it was to get in here. Anarch haven or fencing operation, their security measures were pathetic. "It's not often I stop by to where my associates in Acquisitions do some of their other activities."  
  
"Yeah man, I know how it is," Dave said as he led K.T. through a run down, green tiled and brown painted shop holding all kinds of beaten up goods people sold off in the hopes of turning some quick cash. Dave continued talking as he opened up another door in the back and led the Gangrel down a flight of rickety, badly creaking stairs. "I mean, I had all those same problems in the middle of the eighties when the police did their get tough on drugs thing. Let me tell you how raw a deal that was."  
  
"Yeah, I bet," K.T. said, getting a little nervous about the lack of lighting in the basement. Maybe their security measures were a little better than he thought.  
  
"Okay, here we are," Dave said, opening yet another door. He led the Gangrel in to a large room occupied by almost a dozen people. Joe Iviglio was sitting in one corner of the room, talking to a young woman who looked like something out of the beatnik culture that was still prevalent in some areas. Two teenage punks of about sixteen, wildly pierced and with red dyed hair, were comparing which of their guns were bigger. Three other punks, a little older, marginally better dressed, and slightly less pierced, were talking to a pair of young women who seemed to be stereotypical college students from Berkeley. The last two people were both young black toughs wearing black bandannas, black pants, and black tee shirts.  
  
"Joe, your friend K.T. made it," Dave called out across the room. Joe looked up in total shock at the newcomer.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" the thief demanded, his hand dropping quickly to a poorly concealed snub nosed .38 tucked into his belt.  
  
"Someone who realized how sorry the lot of you must be," K.T. stated boldly. "You mean to tell me that you, an anarch in a city ruled by an iron fisted prince, didn't realize that you were being tailed? I'm appalled at your severe lack of ability."  
  
"You've been following him?" one of the black toughs exclaimed. "Who the fuck are you, man?"  
  
"How long have you been following me?" Joe demanded. A lot of hands were going to weapons.  
  
"Three days," K.T. lied. It had actually taken him twice that long to find someplace of use from this guy, but he didn't want to let on that he was that good just yet. "Why don't you all relax? If I were here for Archon, you'd all be getting whacked right about now."  
  
"Then what are you here for?" Dave demanded  
  
"You fucking asshole, how could you let him follow you for three days?" the beatnik demanded, turning on Joe.  
  
"We're screwed," one of the college girls lamented. "We're so screwed."  
  
"I asked you a question," Dave repeated as K.T. measured the reaction his appearance was getting.  
  
"I'm autarkis, and looking for a place to hang for a few weeks," K.T. replied. "I wanted to find some anarchs, and lo and behold, it looks like I did. No established faction in the Camarilla is as sloppy as you twelve are."  
  
"Watch it, or I'll cut you apart," one of the dyed punks snarled, drawing a knife. K.T. simply smiled condescendingly at the boy.  
  
"What's autarkis?" the beatnik inquired, taking a step forward and looking K.T. over.  
  
"An old term for a vampire that doesn't follow or threaten the Camarilla," the Gangrel replied. "Basically, I'm a neutral. And I'd like to make Archon understand that fact."  
  
"What have you got against Archon?" one of the black toughs asked.  
  
"I came into town a week ago," K.T. informed the group. "Although I have no love for the Camarilla, I presented myself out of courtesy. When he found out I was autarkis, he had that thug Stevie Ray throw me out the back door and tell me to get out of the city. So I stayed out at Muir Woods for a day and then came back. I just haven't thought of a good way to give Archon a nice black eye yet. I figured some anarchs might have some ideas. But I guess I came to the wrong place, with how pathetic this sorry group is."  
  
"We're the toughest anarchs in town!" the knife wielder exclaimed indignantly. "I'll kick your ass myself to prove it to you!"  
  
"Obviously a Brujah," K.T. noted dryly. "That what all of you are?"  
  
"Why should we answer that?" Dave said. "We still don't know who you are."  
  
"I told you, my name's K.T.," the Gangrel said. "I'll even throw in my clan for you. Gangrel. That enough yet?"  
  
"I don't know," the second black tough said, walking up to K.T. and looking him over. "Where are you from?"  
  
"Originally or in the last thirty years?" K.T. asked. The tough seemed a little taken aback by the hint at K.T.'s age. Probably none of them had been vampires for more than five years or so.  
  
"Uh, last thirty years, I guess," the tough said. K.T. nodded.  
  
"Well, let's see, that would be the entire continental U.S. and a third of Canada," K.T. replied. "And Alaska in seventy-nine."  
  
"Is there anywhere you haven't been?" the beatnik asked, coming to stand in front of him and twirling her finger through her coppery hair. Her deep blue eyes appraised him and caught his gaze. "Are you working for the prince?"  
  
"You'll have to try harder than that, sister," K.T. said, recognizing the attempt at domination for what it was. She was obviously farther removed from Caine, the first vampire, than he was, and it seemed to surprise her. She backed off a step, looking a bit worried. "Your Jedi mind tricks have no effect on me."  
  
"So you're autarkis and looking to get some anarchs to do some dirty work for you," Dave said, regaining K.T.'s attention. "That it?"  
  
"Pretty much so, yeah," K.T. replied. "So you in for a little havoc?"  
  
"No," Dave replied.   
  
"Don't listen to him," the beatnik said. "We'll go out and have some fun, won't we, Joe?"  
  
"Us? Uh, well, maybe," Joe said, looking a bit worried. "I don't know, though. I mean, Archon is pretty tough, and-"  
  
"Shut up, you wuss!" the knife wielder exclaimed. Then he turned to K.T. and extended his hand. "My name's Slash."  
  
"Actually, his name is Chris, but he has a hard on for Guns n' Roses," the beatnik corrected. The knife wielder turned a furious look on her, but she had already given her attention back to K.T. "And I'm Torrey. You'll have to forgive Dave. I think he's still living in the sixties."  
  
"The sixties were a good time," Dave muttered indignantly. K.T. chuckled a little.  
  
"Depends on where you were at the time," K.T. commented. Then he turned back to Torrey. "So it's the three of you?"  
  
"Well, I'm sure you can convince some of these guys to come along," the beatnik said. "And, I might just know a few people who want a shot at Archon and his little angel of death, Julian Luna."  
  
"Never met him," K.T. said. "I just want my shot to be at Archon, or at the least Stevie Ray."  
  
"I can't believe you guys are going along with this," Dave said, looking over the anarchs. "I mean, we don't even know who he is!"  
  
"Oh, don't worry, David," Torrey said, walking over to the hippie. "I know a couple of people that might very well be able to find out."  
  
"Sure, right, whatever," Dave grumbled. Torrey laughed, kissed him on the cheek, and then turned back to K.T.  
  
"So what are you doing tomorrow night, handsome?" she asked.  
  
  
III  
  
K.T. pulled his motorcycle to a stop in front of Jack Early Park and looked around carefully. Torrey had told him to be at the relatively small park at midnight, but he had decided to be there a bit early just to make sure that there was nothing odd about this situation. Leaning the old Indian bike he rode down on its kickstand, the Gangrel started casually into the park, his hand staying near the opening in his duster to reach the Ruger Redhawk or the large hunting knife he carried with him. As he started into the park, he looked back to the street quickly, then continued to a park bench along one of the walks that led through the park. Finally, without anything else to do, he sat down on top of the bench, and waited for the young anarch to show herself. He glanced down at his watch, and confirmed the time; twenty to twelve. Maybe he was a bit too early, K.T. decided to himself. He was about to get up and wander around a little bit more when he heard someone coming up the walk from inside the park.  
  
The person that came into view was definitely a woman, but that was where the similarities with Torrey ended. The girl approaching now was probably about eighteen or so, maybe five and a half feet tall, with what seemed like dyed blue hair and large wings sticking out of the back of her black leather jacket. As she saw him she came to a stop, and looked him over.  
  
"Hi," she said, smiling a little.  
  
"Hi," K.T. answered, but without the smile. She looked at him again.  
  
"What clan?" she asked, being rather bold about the whole thing. He had just picked up on the fact that there was no steam coming from her mouth despite the cold temperature, but he hadn't been willing to say anything about it.  
  
"Macleod," K.T. replied sarcastically. "Watch it, or I'll take your head."  
  
"Huh?" the girl asked. K.T. shrugged his shoulders. Apparently he had been one of about twelve people to see that movie.  
  
"Never mind," he said, looking around. The girl immediately sat down on the bench below him.  
  
"Really," she asked. "What clan are you? No, wait, let me guess. Gangrel."  
  
"Tremere," K.T. lied. The girl's eyes went wide, and she started to stand up before K.T. cracked a slight smile. "How about you?"  
  
"Oh, I'm Ventrue," the girl said. "I'm actually Archon's first childe."  
  
"Of course," K.T. said, looking around for a brief moment.  
  
"Are you waiting for someone?" the girl asked.  
  
"The president is supposed to meet me here," K.T. replied, hoping that the girl would pick up on his reluctance to talk and leave. The girl laughed.  
  
"I always wanted to meet the president," she said. "Can I meet him too?"  
  
"Look, kid, just take a walk and get lost somewhere, alright?" K.T. said, getting a little frustrated. "I really don't feel like keeping up a conversation with you."  
  
"You have to be Gangrel," the girl said, looking a bit angry. "You're about as nice as a rabid dog."  
  
"Yeah, well, if you leave you won't find out how rabid I can get," K.T. warned. The girl was about to make a retort when another person walked into view, this one probably Japanese. He only stood as tall as the girl currently bothering him, looked maybe two or three years older, and he also had blue dyed hair.  
  
"Alright, Butterfly, time to go home," he said, looking up at K.T. "I don't think this nice man wants you bothering him."  
  
"Who cares?" Butterfly said. "Gangrel are all so antisocial."  
  
The Japanese man looked up at K.T. for a moment. Apparently, he had a little more common sense than the girl, because he seemed a bit concerned about her throwing out clan names.  
  
"Uh, sorry about all this," the Japanese man said. "I'll just be taking her out of your way now. I really do apologize about her behavior."  
  
The young man started to pull the protesting Butterfly away, and K.T. watched the two disappear back down the walk they had come from. After a long moment he stood up and started down the walk after them, but between the darkness, the trees, and the multiple directions they could have gone off in, they had gotten away cleanly. Finally, the Gangrel started back to his previous seat on top of the bench, and waited for another five minutes before he noticed a young woman dressed in tight black pants and blouse and a black beret walking towards him.  
  
"K.T.," Torrey said when she was close enough to be certain it was him. "I'm glad you made it tonight. I was almost worried you wouldn't."  
  
"Well, you know, I had nothing better to do tonight," K.T. said, standing up. "So what are we doing here?"  
  
"Going to meet someone I know," Torrey replied. "But first, you'll have to bear with me. One of my friends is giving a poetry recital about three blocks over. Come on, or we're going to be late."  
  
"Poetry recital?" K.T. repeated, a surprised and disgusted look on his face. "Listen, I'm not dealing with you because I want to hear some guy in a beret pass off a bunch of bitching and moaning as art."  
  
"Hey, listen, that 'bitching and moaning' comes right from the heart, and it is art, for your information," Torrey retorted angrily. K.T. simply turned away and shook his head.  
  
"Toreador," the Gangrel muttered, thinking of having to spend a month or more with a bunch of artsy freaks. "A Toreador."  
  
"Yeppers," Torrey said, coming to stand in front of him again, her anger rapidly dissipating. "Torrey the Toreador, that's what my friends all call me. Talk about coincidence, huh?"  
  
"Yeah, real swell," K.T. said. Torrey simply smiled and took him by the hand.  
  
"I think it's time for you to come in off the road, put the duster away, and culture yourself," the Toreador said as she led the Gangrel out of the park and onto Grant Avenue.  
  
Instead of going to one of the dozens of coffee shops littering the North Beach area as K.T. had expected, Torrey led him into a six story apartment building.  
  
"We're going to a poetry reading here?" K.T. asked skeptically. Torrey nodded.  
  
"It's my friend's apartment," the Toreador replied as they got into the elevator and headed up to the fifth floor. "She's mortal, but I think I'm going to Embrace her in the next couple of months or so."  
  
"Think the prince will allow that?" K.T. inquired with a bit of a smirk. Torrey smiled a little.  
  
"Oh, sure," she replied. Torrey led the way down the hall to a door at the end, then knocked lightly on it. After a moment, a young brunette with glasses opened it up.  
  
"Torrey!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around K.T.'s companion. "I was hoping you'd show up tonight!"  
  
"Well, I couldn't miss out on this," Torrey said, as the brunette's eyes went to K.T. with a bit of a questioning look. "Oh, this is my friend K.T. You don't mind if he sits in, do you?"  
  
"Uh, no, I guess not," the brunette said. Then she extended her hand to the Gangrel, a bit nervously. "I'm Julie. If you want, there's some punch in the kitchen, and-"  
  
"Red wine, Julie," Torrey said. Julie's eyes went a little wider.  
  
"Uh, in the fridge," the young woman said, some of the color draining from her face. "Excuse me, I really shouldn't be neglecting my guests like this."  
  
"Red wine?" K.T. said as Torrey led him into the spacious apartment. The Toreador nodded.  
  
"Julie knows about me, but I don't think she really understands just how many of us are in the city, much less the world," Torrey explained. "So I got her to keep a little blood here for when I came around. As long as no one takes a sip of your drink, they won't know the difference."  
  
"Oh," K.T. said. He walked into the living room, and quickly noticed that this was not going to be a very fun night. Everyone in the room looked as though they were going to be every bit as New Age and artsy as Torrey was, or maybe even more so. The Gangrel quickly made his way through to the kitchen, and was surprised to see the Japanese man he had met in the park just closing the door of the refrigerator. In his hand was the bottle of "red wine" that Torrey had referred to earlier.  
  
"Somehow I don't picture you to be a patron of the arts," the young man commented, setting the bottle down and picking a pair of plastic cups out of the drain board.  
  
"I wouldn't exactly expect to find you here, either," K.T. remarked. "Nice hair."  
  
"Thanks," the man said with a smirk. He poured the blood into both glasses, then handed one off to K.T. "Name's Johnny."  
  
"K.T.," the Gangrel said. "You're not a Toreador, are you?"  
  
"Not in the least," Johnny said with a smirk. "Matter of fact, I don't much like them. They're always going off about art and poetry and shit like that. If they'd just kick back and enjoy themselves, they'd at least be tolerable."  
  
"Interesting viewpoint," K.T. said. Personally, he didn't think a Toreador would ever be completely tolerable. "So then what brings you to this predictably boring recital?"  
  
"Free cocktail bar," Johnny replied, lifting his glass and smiling a little. Then he went back into the refrigerator and took out a bottle of Guinness. "Complimentary drinks served ten 'til close."  
  
"I think you're forgetting something," K.T. said. "I don't think the, um, wine is going to mix with the beer."  
  
"Huh? Oh, that," Johnny said, popping the top off of the bottle and taking a long drink of beer. When he finished, it appeared as though half the bottle were gone. K.T. simply stared at him blankly. "I'm one of the lucky ones."  
  
"Oh," K.T. said simply. He had heard of vampires that could eat and drink before, but this was the first one he had ever met. "Well, I don't want to keep you too long. This reading promises to be real exciting."  
  
"Yeah, I can tell you're dying to get back in there and listen," Johnny commented with a smirk. "If you hate poetry so much, why did you even show up?"  
  
"To meet someone," K.T. replied. "I am not here by choice."  
  
"Too bad," Johnny said. "The only people you'll meet here are Toreador or Toreador friends. You're screwed, dude."  
  
"Yeah, that I am," K.T. said. He took the cup of blood he had, downed it, then rinsed out the cup and put it in the sink. Nodding his thanks to Johnny, the Gangrel walked back out into the living room, and headed towards where Torrey was listening with rapt fascination to a young man standing in the middle of the room. K.T. scanned the place quickly for any sign of Johnny's friend Butterfly, but she was nowhere to be found. After a moment, the young man finished, and the dozen or so people in the room started clapping. K.T. looked around for a moment until Torrey nudged him in the side, then clapped just enough to pretend he had even listened to the man's poem, much less understood it. As the applause died down, another young woman came over to Torrey, this one quite a bit less attractive. If not for the severe look on her face and her extremely old fashioned, conservative dress, though, she might have been a pretty girl.  
  
"I see you have a new friend, Torrey," the woman said, appraising K.T. as if she were critiquing a poorly rendered work of art. Torrey nodded, and put her arm around the Gangrel.  
  
"K.T., this is Maria," the Toreador introduced. "Maria is my sire and a good friend."  
  
"Nice to meet you," K.T. said, shaking Maria's hand. "I must admit, this is not quite what I expected out of anarchs."  
  
"Propaganda," Maria said with disgust. "Archon is so busy trying to root out anarchs that he has made us all out to be despicable, murderous fiends in the night with no purpose than to destroy his precious Masquerade. He rules with such an iron fist that I was forced to leave the formality and stagnance of the Camarilla and become what I am now, nothing more than an animal like the Gangrel and Brujah."  
  
"Yeah, them's the breaks," K.T. said, taking an immediate dislike to the woman's superiority complex that was coming through in everything she said and did. Maria simply stuck her nose up at him, heaping on the arrogance.  
  
"I take it you would be one of the animals, with your dress and your distinctive.... odor," the Toreador commented. Yes, well, Torrey, leave this beast and run in better circles. I truly cannot abide the people you deem to call friends these days."  
  
"But, Maria," Torrey started, looking genuinely hurt.  
  
"No, that's alright," K.T. said. "I was just leaving. It was getting a little pretentious in here, anyway."  
  
"I'm surprised an animal like you knows the meaning of that word," Maria remarked. K.T. leaned in over her, smiling maliciously.  
  
"Good thing I'm not Brujah, or I might have splattered your intestines all over the person behind you," the Gangrel pointed out. Maria simply waved him off, and K.T. turned and walked out the door.  
  
"Nice job," Torrey said, turning to her sire. She didn't seem overly upset with the older vampire. Maria nodded.  
  
"He may not be a spy," Maria said. "But keep an eye on him. If he wants to meet a lot of your friends, then we know he's up to something."  
  
"But I wanted to hear Dierdre," Torrey complained, looking to another young woman that was starting to take the stage.  
  
"Go," Maria ordered, her stern eyes burrowing into her childe.  
  
"Alright," Torrey said. She hurried out the door after K.T., and Maria turned back into the apartment, only to practically run over a short Japanese man with dyed blue hair.  
  
"My apologies, really," Johnny said, quickly moving past her. Maria watched him go, then turned back to listen to the next poetry reading taking place.  
  
"K.T., come on, wait up!" Torrey called out as the Gangrel started angrily along Lombard Street. "I'm really sorry about that, I swear!"  
  
"That who you wanted me to meet tonight?" K.T. asked angrily, turning back to the Toreador. "I could have found a better reception walking back into Archon's office."  
  
"I'm really sorry, K.T.," Torrey said, catching up. "Maria just comes off really harsh like that until you get to know her."  
  
"I've heard that before," K.T. said. "But I'm also old enough to know that Toreador and Gangrel don't mix."  
  
"Well, I'm tolerating you, aren't I?" Torrey said. "Come on, K.T. We're not all bad. Please come back, just for a little while longer."  
  
"I'd rather be crucified," K.T. said, turning back to the Toreador. "I showed up tonight because you were supposed to be taking me to meet someone that I could deal with. There was nothing said about going to poetry recitals for three hours beforehand."  
  
"Alright," Torrey said, looking down at the ground. "I promise not to drag you to another poetry reading like that."  
  
"Thank you," K.T. said. He looked back down along the street, and almost thought he caught a glimpse of a shadow that wasn't quite right. Torrey noticed his lack of attention to her, and turned quickly.  
  
"What?" she asked, looking into the darkness. Whatever it had been, it was gone now.  
  
"Thought I saw something," K.T. replied. "Just a bit of nerves, I guess. Now who the hell am I supposed to meet tonight?"  
  
"Oh yeah," Torrey said, still looking a bit upset that the pair wouldn't be returning to Julie's apartment tonight. "There's a guy I know on the waterfront. His name is Terry. He's the one that's going to get the down low on you."  
  
"Should I expect people trying to get into my head, then?" K.T. asked. "I really don't like people dominating me."  
  
"No one ever does, but sometimes it is a necessary evil," Torrey said. "Besides, he probably won't even do anything. He'll just ask you a few questions, decide whether or not you're lying, and then decide whether we should shoot you or help you. It'll be fun!"  
  
"Oh, I'm sure," K.T. said. Torrey simply smiled, and led him off towards the waterfront.  
  
The pair walked for several blocks until Torrey started into the Fisherman's Wharf section of San Francisco. The dark, cramped alleys and crowded warehouses were not a place he wanted to get caught if the anarchs had already figured him out. The Gangrel hesitated for a short moment, but then continued after the Toreador before she could pick up on any of his reluctance. For her part, Torrey never seemed to notice; she even seemed to be watching the shadows for any sign of danger. After a ten minute walk, the pair arrived at a small bar crowded between a boarding house and a shipwright's store.  
  
"Well, here we are," Torrey said, though it was obvious the Toreador was not comfortable with her current surroundings. "This should be more your speed. A seedy dive with a lot of rough talkers."  
  
"Right," K.T. said. He pushed the door open and walked in.  
  
A variety of people were in the dim, wood raftered bar, from a couple of well dressed businessmen to the fisherman who had come in off the boats a few hours ago. A large percentage of them were Asian, including some of the businessmen, and the Gangrel wondered for a moment just how many of these people were involved with the Tong, Yakuza, or other crime organizations in the Bay Area. Torrey made her way quickly through the common room and pushed through a door marked private in the back. After a long moment, K.T. followed, one eye still keeping track of the people he passed.  
  
The private room was not much different from the common room. It was still dim, still raftered, and the place hadn't seen paint since the day it was built, and that was likely before K.T. had even been born. Three tables were set up in the room, each one occupied by several men. Voices were kept low, but considering the high priced suits and the number of briefcases that were placed in such a way that they could be easily switched, chances are the business being conducted here was hardly legal. Torrey gestured to a table taken by only two men. One of the two was a man who seemed to be about thirty years of age, with somewhat long brown hair swept to one side and dark brown eyes. The other was a short, stocky man of obviously Italian descent, with extremely short black hair and cold brown eyes that watched the Gangrel for signs of any sudden moves. The brown haired man gestured to a seat across from him, and the Gangrel sat down.  
  
"So you're the autarkis," the man said, looking K.T. over. "My name's Terry. I heard a bit about you from Torrey. What is it you want in this city?"  
  
"To give Archon a black eye," K.T. replied. "I value my standing as a neutral. If word gets out that I repay those who are assholes to me, more princes might be willing to give me the neutrality I want."  
  
"And so you plan on using us as your instrument of revenge," Terry concluded.  
  
"You want a shot at him, and I want a shot at him," K.T. said. "It would seem we have an area of common interest. If the anarchs I managed to sneak up on are your idea of effective freedom fighters, you'll never take San Francisco."  
  
"But with you, we could overthrow the prince?" Terry countered. "I think you place yourself too high on the food chain, K.T. Are you an elder, too?"  
  
"No, but I've been around," K.T. said. "I know princes, primogen, and their need to fight each other as much as they fight their enemies. I walked out on the Camarilla for a reason."  
  
"And who would your sire be, that made you want to leave so badly?" Terry asked. K.T. smirked.  
  
"Well, who's your sire that made you want to be an anarch?" the Gangrel asked in reply. Terry grinned.  
  
"Touché," he remarked. "So you don't like the Camarilla, probably thought the Sabbat was a bunch of diablerizing murderers, and decided that the anarchs weren't your calling. So, what, you just travel around the states a lot?"  
  
"Pretty much so," K.T. replied. "It's taught me to keep an eye out for people, and to defend myself. Something none of the anarchs I've seen know how to do."  
  
"They are young," Terry said. He leaned forward a little, and stared into K.T.'s eyes. Before the Gangrel could look away, the anarch had caught his attention and spoke again. "So why are you really here?"  
  
K.T. immediately knew the intent of the anarch, and steeled his will against the mental attack. That wouldn't be enough here, though; even as he fought off the attempt at domination, he was pretending that it had worked.  
  
"To give the prince a black eye," K.T. responded robotically, hoping his act was enough to fool the anarch. Terry looked him over for a second, and then smiled.  
  
"You passed the test," Terry said. "What are your plans for pissing on Archon's stature?"  
  
"I need to know what I have to work with, first," K.T. said. "Torrey and a couple of her Brujah friends seem to be ready to do a favor or two for me. I figure I just burn down a business or two, or if you've got a hacker, drain one of his accounts into one of yours."  
  
"What you have to work with?" the Italian man repeated, speaking for the first time. "Are you cutting us out of the action here?"  
  
"You want in?" K.T. inquired. He looked the man over for a moment, appraising him. "You dress pretty well for an anarch. Are you the first Ventrue anarch the world has ever seen?"  
  
"If you ever call me Ventrue again, I'll kill you myself," the Italian snarled, leaning over the table.  
  
"You're Brujah by attitude," K.T. observed. The Italian leaned back a little, relaxing slightly. "Though I've never seen one dress so well."  
  
"You've never been to San Francisco before," the Italian explained. "Fiori's entire regime thinks Armani and Gucci are the way to go."  
  
"So that's a primogen and his people," K.T. said. He looked over the Italian for a second. "You saying that you're part of the organized Brujah?"  
  
The Italian started to stand.  
  
"That's enough, Gino," Terry said, grabbing the Brujah by the arm. "And you, Gangrel, would do well not to irritate your current allies. Autarkis have precious few to begin with, from what I've seen."  
  
"You're right about that," K.T. said. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to take shit from every Brujah that thinks he looks good in a suit."  
  
"Fuck off, you Gangrel piece of shit," Gino growled. Terry put up a hand.  
  
"You two don't have to like each other, but I'd appreciate it if you'd just cooperate," the anarch said. "Give me a night or two to decide what I'm willing to commit to this. Torrey?"  
  
"Yeah," the Toreador said, coming over to the table for the first time.  
  
"Get our Gangrel friend some accommodations for the night," Terry said. K.T. shook his head.  
  
"I got a place already," the Gangrel informed the pair. "It's a beat up apartment in Bayview. Please try not to burn it down or something while I'm there."  
  
"I think we can arrange that," Terry said with a grin. "You have a number I can reach you at?"  
  
"Didn't get phone service yet," K.T. replied. "I'll come out tomorrow night."  
  
"Write the address down, I'll have someone come out and get you when I'm ready," Terry said. K.T. seemed a bit hesitant. "Don't worry, I won't send assassins in at dawn to kill you."  
  
"I'm suddenly not very comfortable," K.T. said, looking to Gino. The Brujah noticed, and gave a thoroughly false smile.  
  
"Only I will know the address," Terry assured the Gangrel. "I'll get you myself, and you have my word that I will not tell anyone else where you are."  
  
"Alright," K.T. finally said. He wrote the address down and handed it to the anarch leader. Then he stood up.  
  
"If you don't mind, it's getting late, and I'd like to feed," the Gangrel said. Terry nodded.  
  
"Torrey, take him to a nice club or something where he'll be able to get some fair," the anarch said. Torrey nodded, and led the Gangrel to the door.  
  
  
IV  
  
The sun wasn't quite over the horizon yet as Johnny made his way back to the Soma apartment that he called home for the time being. He walked up the rickety steps of the three story building to a corner apartment on the top floor, and knocked gently on the door. After a long moment, Butterfly opened it up, and looked him over.  
  
"Howdy, stranger," she said. Johnny simply pushed past her and walked into the living room, sparsely furnished with only one couch, a cheap coffee table, and a battered ten year old Zenith showing the six o'clock news. Sitting on the couch was a large man in his late thirties with short blond hair, a stern look on his rugged features.  
  
"What did you find out about that newcomer?" the man on the couch asked, leaning on a cane. Johnny shrugged.  
  
"His name's K.T.," Johnny answered. "He seems to be working with the anarchs. I don't think he has much of an interest in us, if any at all."  
  
"You said he tried to follow you out of the park," the older man pressed. "You know the problems we're having. If this is one of Branas' lackeys, we need to know."  
  
"He's a Gangrel and autarkis, Siras," Johnny informed the older man. "One of the anarch leaders dominated him, and he said he was here to piss off the prince for some kind of disrespectful treatment or something. Why would Branas send a Gangrel?"  
  
"Because we know the Brujah are after us!" Siras retorted with a surge of emotion. He stood up quickly, and started towards the smaller kindred. "If he sent a Brujah, we would be able to pick him out too easily!"  
  
"Then why hasn't he done anything?" Johnny asked. "He knows I'm here now, at the least. That would be enough to get a Brujah hit squad together."  
  
"This is very simple, Johnny," Siras said, holding his anger in check. "He first starts to track your little thieving buddy, and then he tries to follow you out of the park. He wants to know where we are, and if either of us have embraced any new childer that might be a threat. Are you following?"  
  
"Yes, I'm following," Johnny said.   
  
"Good," Siras said. "I want you to keep an eye on him. Don't let him out of your sight for every waking moment. I want to know everyone he meets, everyone he contacts in any way. As soon as I have the proof I need, we're going to nail his ass to the nearest wall."  
  
"Ooh, that sounds like fun," Butterfly said. "We get to deal with anarchs now."  
  
"I think this would be better handled if just I were to deal with him," Johnny said. "He hasn't taken much of a liking to you, Butterfly. God knows why."  
  
"Ooh, your sarcasm wounds me," Butterfly said, holding a hand to her heart. "Please don't hurt me so, Johnny."  
  
"Shut up, Butterfly," Siras growled. "We should have left you in Seattle."  
  
"But then you wouldn't have my charming personality," Butterfly said with an angelic smile.  
  
"She's catching on, Siras," Johnny said, heading back to his bedroom to get some sleep for the day.  
  
K.T. glanced out of the heavily draped window of the Bayview apartment he had taken as a haven, and watched the sky brighten. In another few minutes the sun would actually be up, and he would be forced to close the curtains or fry in the morning light. How Archon had planned on getting in touch with him at seven thirty in the morning was beyond the mercenary. Closing the curtains and stifling a jaw popping yawn, the Gangrel turned back to the bed in the room and sat down on it. He started to flip through the pages of an old San Francisco Giants flyer from a game played sometime in June to keep his mind off of the fact that he was almost always asleep at this time of the morning. After a moment there was a knock on the door. Picking up the Ruger from the night stand next to him, K.T. advanced cautiously on the door. He undid the dead bolt and opened the door as far as the chain would allow.  
  
"Expecting company?" Archon asked with a smile, standing at the door. K.T. closed the door and undid the chain, then allowed the prince in. Archon walked past him and sat down on the bed. "So, how has your week or so been?"  
  
"Oh so eventful," the Gangrel replied. "Where's your watch dog?"  
  
"Oh, he's downstairs," Archon replied. "What have you found out so far?"  
  
"The anarchs have a main player who goes by the name of Terry," K.T. informed the prince. "He seems to be hanging out with a man named Gino, presumably a well dressed Brujah. I don't think either of them are connected at all with the primogen of the Brujah, considering the way they acted."  
  
"I'll be the judge of that," Archon said. "Keep on these two. I want to know where they get their weapons from, where they live, and all their associates. Understand?"  
  
"I figured that's what you were paying me for," K.T. said with a bit of a smirk. Archon smiled a little.  
  
"I see your time with the anarchs has lowered your respect of authority," the prince said. "No matter. When you have the pertinent information, contact me. You know where to find me."  
  
"Yeah, I do," K.T. said. "One more thing. I met Terry at a small bar in Fisherman's Wharf. It didn't have a name, but here's the address."  
  
"Oh, there's no need to give that to me," Archon said. "I've been having you tailed the last two nights."  
  
"Thanks for letting me know so quickly," K.T. said sarcastically. Archon chuckled as he walked out. K.T. locked the door after the prince's exit, then turned back to the bed and buried himself under the blankets of the bed to make certain that no sunlight would hit him during the day.  
  
When he woke up the next night, it was to someone knocking on his door. K.T. slowly got up and stumbled out of bed, making his way to the door and picking up his Ruger from the night stand on the way. He finally opened the door to reveal Terry standing just outside.  
  
"Rise and shine," the anarch said with a smile. "Time to go."  
  
"Go where?" K.T. asked, walking back into the apartment. Terry followed him in and shut the door.  
  
"Torrey's been asking me for half the morning what you were doing tonight," Terry said. "I think she really likes you. Anyway, she wanted me to come get you and bring you out to see her and a couple of her friends."  
  
"Do I have to?" K.T. asked, turning back to Terry as he picked up his duster. The anarch shrugged.  
  
"Throw her a bone," Terry said. He stopped for a second. "Figuratively speaking, of course."  
  
"Will Maria be there?" K.T. inquired. Terry grinned a little.  
  
"Met the witch, have you?" the anarch guessed. "She's so Toreador it's not funny. Most of the other anarchs are more openminded. Like Torrey. She hasn't had any problems with you yet, unless you count trying to get you out so she can be around you. And, no, Maria will not be there. She doesn't like punk rock."  
  
"Punk rock?" K.T. echoed, looking a bit surprised. "What, no poetry recitals tonight?"  
  
"Come on," Terry said with a grin. "If we don't get going now, I'll never find a place to park."  
  
Terry led K.T. out of the apartment and down the stairs to a 1989 Mustang parked along the street just below his apartment. Terry hopped in on the driver's side, and then pushed the passenger door open for K.T. The Gangrel was about to get in when he looked around again for a short moment.  
  
"Something wrong?" Terry inquired, leaning across the seat. K.T. shook his head.  
  
"Just nerves, I guess," the Gangrel replied. He figured he was being followed again by whoever Archon had sent after him, but he still would have liked to be certain. The Gangrel took one more look around, then got into the car.  
  
"So how long have you been here, again?" Terry asked as he pulled away from the curb and started towards the downtown area.  
  
"About a week," K.T. replied, seeing the interrogation for what it was. He was going to have to be careful to make sure there were no indiscrepencies between the story he gave Terry and the one Torrey had, or this mission would be scrubbed in a real hurry. "Course, I did spend a day out in Muir Woods, so you could argue that I've only been here six now. It took me three days just to find any other anarchs from the thief I managed to follow around."  
  
"How'd you know he was an anarch?" Terry inquired. "If I'm thinking of the same Joe, he doesn't look much like your stereotypical Brujah."  
  
"There's no such thing as a stereotypical Brujah," K.T. said. "I've met some that you would be really shocked weren't Ventrue. One of them happens to be in San Jose. He met Joe once or twice, and when I called him about it five nights ago, he gave me a quick description of the guy. Then it took me a day or two to figure out where I could find him."  
  
"So you followed him to Dave's little group," Terry said with a bit of a smirk. "That's about the oddest group of anarchs I've seen in my life. Half of them are Toreador and the other half are Brujah. Talk about your unlikely alliances."  
  
"I've never heard of Toreador anarchs before," K.T. said, still a little surprised by the composition of the anarchs in San Francisco. "In fact, wasn't it a Toreador prince who attacked the current anarch leader in LA?"  
  
"MacNeil? Yeah, that was a Toreador prince," Terry replied. In the 1940s, a Brujah named Jeremy MacNeil had been the target of a prince's lackeys, and when the dust had finally settled, not only was the Brujah alive, but every city from Portland to San Diego had fallen under anarch control. Seattle and San Francisco were the only two major holdouts on the coast, and each day it seemed as though they were in danger of falling into anarch hands. "But I figure that's the reason for the Toreador anarchs. After all, the Ventrue probably hold the Toreador to blame for losing the entire west coast. They get angry, persecute some Toreador, and they get all upset and come to us. I don't mind at all. It gives me some extra firepower. You'd be surprised what Toreador can accomplish if you spend the time to show them what a form of art combat is."  
  
"That's a new approach," K.T. admitted as Terry pulled into a large parking lot next to an even larger building. The anarch cut the engine and got out of the car.  
  
"Well, here we are," Terry said, taking a deep breath and looking around. "The Pierce Street Annex. Nicest club to ever open on Pierce Street. Come on, I'll show you through the VIP entrance."  
  
K.T. followed along behind Terry as the anarch walked around to the back of the building, ignoring the front doors and the massive line leading to them. They reached a large service entrance between two parked trucks, one from Anheuser Busch and the other from Amstel Imports, and walked in without so much as being questioned. As they reached the back, the manager of the club, a man who was at least six feet tall, extremely rotund, and bathed in sweat, looked up, and walked over to Terry with a smile.  
  
"Nice to see you again, McMichael," the manager said as he shook hands with the anarch. Then he ran a hand through his greasy black hair."What brings you here tonight?"  
  
"Torrey's been begging me to come hear her friend's band," Terry said with a shrug. "Not exactly my cup of tea, but you know, she gets so persuasive at times."  
  
"I bet she does," the manager said with a sly smile. Terry put up a hand.  
  
"Come on, she's totally not my type," the anarch said. "Oh, K.T., this is Ernie Fleming. He manages the club."  
  
"Nice to meet you," K.T. said, shaking hands with the bigger man. Ernie smiled as he looked the Gangrel over.  
  
"Cold hands, warm heart," Ernie said with a conspiratorial grin, turning to Terry. Terry nodded and grinned a little. "Hey, enjoy the concert. Torrey should be close to the stage, and there's some really hot appetizers at the bar."  
  
"Thanks, Ernie," Terry said, his grin widening a little. Ernie turned back to directing the kegs as K.T. and Terry started down the narrow corridor to the sounds of loud music and people talking.  
  
"Cold hands, warm heart?" the Gangrel asked, looking at Terry.  
  
"Ghoul," the anarch explained. "I give him a pint of blood every other week or so to keep him happy. We would have embraced him, but he likes to eat too much. Besides, could you picture a three hundred sixty pound vampire?"  
  
K.T. shook his head, already mentally taking note of the man and his possible abilities. While ghouls didn't get the full run of vampiric powers, they did gain strength and a degree of immortality. Of course, the combination of the Blood Bond created from Ernie to Terry and the fact that Ernie was likely not going to want to give up his source of immortality would make him about as dangerous as any anarch vampire in San Francisco so far. Especially since the anarchs all seemed to be very young.  
  
Even as K.T. was thinking about the ghoul he had just met, Terry pushed open the service door into the main room of the Pierce Street Annex. Immediately the Gangrel was assaulted by the loud music being played on the central stage. The all girl band on the stage looked like a group of Bangles wannabes, and was strumming out a bizarre cover of Falco's Amadeus, mixing classical music into their barrage of slightly off key chords. The crowd around him was almost as noisy as the band, dressed to the nines in gaudy, mid eighties style dresses and silk suits, almost a third of the guys wearing sunglasses despite the fact that it was difficult to see through the dim club without any hindrances. He turned to Terry in time to see the anarch shouting something that was drowned out by the music.  
  
"What?" K.T. screamed, though he wasn't certain if anyone had heard him.  
  
"Torrey's over there!" Terry shouted back, pointing towards the stage. K.T. looked over the front of the stage until he saw someone that might be Torrey, wearing a loud neon green dress with black polka-dots and a bright green ribbon in her hair, which was now dyed blond. As he caught sight of her, the young Toreador made her way quickly through the crowd, waving a bit drunkenly at the Gangrel. K.T. turned to say something to Terry, but the anarch leader had already disappeared into the crowd, leaving the mercenary to suffer the attention alone.  
  
"K.T.!" Torrey exclaimed, falling into his arms. K.T. managed to help her keep her balance until she could manage it herself, and even then she kept her arms wrapped around his neck. "I hoped you would come tonight! How do I look?"  
  
"Like Madonna!" K.T. replied. Torrey started to laugh. "Really! I can't hear you over that dress you're wearing!"  
  
"Oh, come on, you love it and you know it!" Torrey exclaimed. Before K.T. could say anything, she dragged him out onto the floor and started dancing. Reluctantly, K.T. tried to keep up, but it became obvious extremely quickly that the last time he had danced was before the jitterbug was popular. As the band's cover of Amadeus came to an end, Torrey dragged the thoroughly embarrassed Gangrel back to the wall, laughing hysterically.  
  
"We'll have to work on that!" the Toreador giggled. She reached out and grabbed another young woman as she went by. "Susan, look who showed up!"  
  
"Oh, hi!" Susan said, turning to the pair. K.T. looked her over for a long moment, knowing that he had seen Susan before, but didn't know where. "Don't you ever get dressed up? Well, I guess Gangrel don't get dressed up often."  
  
"From the meeting I crashed," K.T. suddenly realized. Susan smiled and nodded.  
  
"And he's so smart, too!" Susan exclaimed with a laugh. She turned to Torrey, and her voice started to take on a teasing tone. "Don't let him get away, Torrey! You never know when you'll find another like him!"  
  
"Susan!" Torrey hissed, but the anarch was already starting back into the crowd, leaving a trail of giggling behind. Torrey turned back to K.T., who was smirking as he leaned back against the wall.  
  
"Don't worry, I'm not trying to get away yet," the Gangrel said. Torrey smiled, a bit embarrassed, and K.T. kind of wished they had been mortal for no other reason than to watch the Toreador turn beet red.  
  
"Uh, yeah, um, she was just joking around," Torrey said, looking down at the ground.  
  
"You're a horrible liar when you're drunk," K.T. said, lifting the Toreador's chin gently. Torrey started to smile as she saw the Gangrel's grin.  
  
"Come on, let's go somewhere else," she said, taking him by the hand and leading him towards the door.  
  
  
V  
  
"Alright, alright, I'm coming," K.T. shouted at the door to his apartment, still half asleep. He looked around the living room for a moment, then made his way to the door and opened it up.  
  
"Good morning," Terry said with a bit of a smile. "How are you feeling today?"  
  
"We have to do something about this waking me up early thing," K.T. grumbled as he walked back into the apartment. Terry chuckled as he closed the door behind him.  
  
"Rough night last night?" the anarch leader inquired with a bit of a smirk.  
  
"Funny," K.T. said, finding his shirt on the couch and pulling it over his head. He looked down at his shoulder to see a smudge of lipstick, then took the shirt off and threw it back on the couch.  
  
"So you gonna let me know what happened, or should I just guess?" Terry asked as the Gangrel walked back into the bedroom and rummaged through the closet.  
  
"She's never been on a motorcycle before," K.T. said. Terry smiled a little.  
  
"The old 'Rebel without a Cause' spiel," the anarch leader concluded. "I take it she went for it. You get everything you wanted out of the night?"  
  
"She moves quick," K.T. said. "I don't move quite that fast."  
  
"Aw, you're so principled," Terry remarked. "Robin Hood on a motorcycle. The knight in shining leather. The-"  
  
"Is there any reason you came over?" K.T. asked, cutting the anarch off.  
  
"Well, you're the one that wants to play Beat on the Prince," Terry remarked. "Tonight I'll give you your options, and some of what you have to work with. Or, maybe you'd just like to help us on the long term."  
  
"The long term?" K.T. repeated, turning back to the other vampire. "What long term is that?"  
  
"Well, I plan on finally wresting San Francisco away from Archon," Terry replied. "I think we have the resources now, and maybe if you help out, some of the people I have can be made more effective in a fight. I know you've met Torrey's little clique, and you don't think much of them in a fight. But there are two more anarch gangs in the city. Plus a few unpresented Brujah and Caitiff. If we can rally them, I don't think that the established clans can hold out for too long."  
  
"You know, I don't think that's such a great idea," K.T. said. "You don't have the armaments or the financial banking for that kind of thing. From what I saw of this city, you guys are alive because the prince must have something more important to worry about."  
  
"What he has to worry about is the Brujah clan," Terry explained. "Fiori's been looking to make himself prince for almost a decade now, since the first day he became primogen. We might be able to use that to our advantage."  
  
"Only if we get him on our side," K.T. pointed out. "And if he wants to be a prince, the anarchs are only another stumbling block for him."  
  
Terry simply smiled.  
  
"Come on," the anarch leader said. "Let me go show you exactly what kind of backing we have."  
  
K.T. followed Terry as he walked down the stairs and out to his Mustang, then looked around for a quick moment just to see if he could find Archon's spy. He didn't spend nearly as long looking this time, and Terry didn't seem to notice the Gangrel's pause. As they pulled away from the curb, K.T. turned to Terry.  
  
"I can't see the group you have here being able to knock off Archon," the Gangrel said. "You can't possibly have enough people to stage a takeover."  
  
"We'll have enough people," Terry said. "There's Torrey's little group, who you met, and there's two other gangs. But that's not the ace up my sleeve."  
  
"What? Is MacNeil coming up here himself?" K.T. asked, trying to get Terry to be a little more specific. It was probably already common knowledge that there were three gangs of anarchs, and he needed to know more. Terry smiled as he turned onto Geary Boulevard and started into the downtown area.  
  
"Hardly," the anarch leader said. "He has some problems with a Brujah, I think his name is Cyrus or something stupid like that. Hard to believe, that. Brujah fighting to take a city from Brujah anarchs. Last I heard, Cyrus was doing a bang up job recruiting down there."  
  
"So then if you're not getting outside help, how do you think you stand a chance against an established prince with some personal Angel of Death at his beck and call?"  
  
Terry simply smiled and continued to drive. K.T. tried to think of what the anarch leader could possibly have planned, but Terry was keeping his mouth shut. Ten minutes later, they had reached an alley in Chinatown that ran along the side of a run down warehouse.  
  
"Tong sympathizers," K.T. guessed as Terry got out of the car.  
  
"Curiosity killed the cat, K.T.," Terry reminded the Gangrel with a smirk. "Come on in. I'll show you the ace."  
  
K.T. got out of the car and looked around slowly, trying to figure out whether the person trailing him had managed to keep up with the car. At the end of the alley, the regular evening traffic of San Francisco crept past, but no one was turning down the alley after them. Finally, K.T. walked up onto the narrow sidewalk and in through a black painted metal door.  
  
Inside the warehouse, the Gangrel was simply amazed at what he was looking at. Torrey sat on the edge of a folding table only a few feet inside the door, and waved her hand back at a number of other folding tables. Each one was piled high with crates, all of them stenciled with Cyrillic lettering.  
  
"Russian surplus," Terry said with a bit of a smile. "A friend of mine in Fresno is simply connected out the ass."  
  
"You're kidding," K.T. said, walking up to one of the crates and looking it over. The end of each crate was stamped with the Soviet hammer and sickle, and the stenciling was definitely Russian. Terry walked up next to him, and handed the Gangrel a crowbar.  
  
"Take a peek," the anarch leader said with a smile. K.T. pried the top off of one crate, opening up five unloaded AK-47s. He looked back up at Terry, who was smiling broadly. "You wouldn't believe the discount I got on these."  
  
"How many did you get?" the Gangrel asked, looking around at the other crates. If even half was filled with weapons, he could probably arm every gang member in the Bay Area to the teeth.  
  
"Oh, only about fifty AKs, a dozen RPKs, some RPGs, a few gross grenades, some land mines..." the anarch leader counted off.  
  
"Land mines?" K.T. interrupted. "What, are you going to start mining the streets?"  
  
"Of course not!" Terry countered, sounding as though the suggestion was preposterous. "That would be completely inefficient. We'll be mining driveways. We use the .30 calibers on the streets."  
  
"Jesus Christ, you're going to tear this city apart," K.T. pointed out. Torrey wrapped her arms around his chest from behind.  
  
"Only for a night or two," the young Toreador said. "But it has to be done. How else are we going to throw Archon out of power?"  
  
"I can't be a part of wholesale slaughter like that," K.T. said, pushing Torrey away. Terry held up a hand.  
  
"We're not going to be cutting down mortals in the streets," the anarch leader said. "But I think some RPG rounds will do wonders to get Archon out of his house. Either that, or we'll just use one of the flame throwers and set the mansion on fire."  
  
"Yeah?" K.T. said, looking extremely skeptical. "What idiot are you going to get to strap on a flame thrower?"  
  
"You'd be surprised," Terry said. Just then the door opened again, and the young Brujah, Slash, walked in.  
  
"Yo, Terry!" he exclaimed. "You got that flame thrower for me?"  
  
"I rest my case," the anarch leader commented.  
  
"He'll fire that thing once and take off in the opposite direction, trying to outrun his backpack," K.T. remarked dryly. Slash walked up to him and grinned.  
  
"No way, Gangrel man," the young Brujah said. "Me, I'm the bravest of the brave. Proved it myself with this little test Terry came up with."  
  
"Test?" K.T. repeated, turning to the anarch leader. Terry shrugged.  
  
"I built a bonfire and saw who would run through it," he explained. K.T. turned a disbelieving stare on the young Brujah.  
  
"Three times," Slash declared proudly. K.T. turned back to Terry.  
  
"So it's a Russian flame thrower?" the Gangrel inquired. Terry nodded, looking a bit puzzled. "I hear Russian flame throwers are about as reliable as a Buick."  
  
"Oh, come on, it's better than that," Terry said, more to assure the young Brujah than to counter anything the mercenary was saying.  
  
"I ain't scared," Slash said, though his tone lacked a bit of the conviction he had earlier. Torrey slapped K.T. on the arm playfully.  
  
"That wasn't very nice," she chided with a smile. "Now he's going to be all scared for no reason."  
  
"I just call 'em like I see 'em," K.T. said. "So how'd you lay hands on all this shit? A little Russian surplus, alright, but enough to equip a battalion?"  
  
"Like I said, a friend in Fresno has a friend in East Germany who just got the shit on the fly," Terry said. "With the Soviets collapsing, this shit is going to hit the market real big time real soon. I just happened to know the people who knew people."  
  
"An anarch, connected in Germany?" K.T. asked, looking doubtful. "I think there's three anarchs in the entire Old World, much less East Germany."  
  
"Yep," Terry agreed. K.T. was hoping for a little more than that, but the anarch leader was, unfortunately, smart enough not to brag about who he knew. "Well, you want anything out of this, or should I just hand it out to the others?"  
  
"I wouldn't mind an AK," K.T. said after a moment. Terry picked one out of the box, then opened a second crate and gave the Gangrel three magazines.  
  
"I can give you more later," the anarch leader said. "I got a second shipment, mostly ammo, coming in a few days from now."  
  
"Alright," K.T. said, loading the rifle with one clip and stuffing the other two into his pocket. "Anything else tonight?"  
  
"Not really," Terry replied. "Why?"  
  
"Might I borrow an ounce of C-4, a detonator, and the address of a local Archon institution, then?" K.T. asked with a bit of a grin. Terry started to smile, as well.  
  
"Slash, go get me an ounce of C-4 and a detonator," Terry said, walking over to a table and picking up a note pad. He scribbled an address down, and handed it to K.T. as the young Brujah returned with the explosive. "Have fun, K.T.," the anarch leader said. "Try not to catch yourself in the explosion, too."  
  
"I'll see what I can do," K.T. said, taking the address and the explosives. Torrey came to his side.  
  
"K.T.," she said, taking his hand.  
  
"Yeah?" the Gangrel asked, turning to her.  
  
"Be careful," Torrey said, a concerned look in her eyes. K.T. smiled, and kissed her lightly.  
  
"I think I can manage," he said. Then he turned and walked out of the warehouse.  
  
"Torrey the Toreador, goin' all mushy for the wolfie boy!" K.T. heard from inside as he shut the door.  
  
Once the Gangrel was on the street again, he looked around quickly. Nothing seemed to have changed about the alley, with the exception of a Suzuki motorcycle that Slash had probably ridden on, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Finally, he started out of the alley and along Kearny Street, watching the shadows for any signs of someone following him. Finally, keeping the AK-47 carefully concealed under his duster, the Gangrel continued along the street and stopped under a streetlight to read the address he had been given. It was only a few blocks north on Lombard Street, but at least half of the way back to Bayview. Settling in for a long walk, the Gangrel started down the hills towards North Beach.  
  
He had only gone a couple of blocks when he was certain someone was following him. Getting sick of the double checking that Archon was doing on him, K.T. hurried his pace a little, then turned quickly into a dark side alley. He pressed himself into a corner against a garbage can and slowly looked out past the rim, hoping that whoever it was wouldn't notice him. He waited for at least two minutes, until a short, thin figure entered the alley and looked around. The tailer took one step into the darkness before K.T. lunged out and grabbed him by the throat, holding him up against the wall and ramming his Ruger into the man's gut. Then, for a long moment, the two vampires stared at each other.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" K.T. demanded, letting his prisoner go with a mixture of surprise and disgust.  
  
"I thought I'd see what you were up to," Johnny replied. The young half Asian leaned back against the wall, seemingly unconcerned with the rough treatment he had just received. "I mean, you just came from a warehouse full of guns and all."  
  
"Oh, so it's been pure curiosity for the past two nights, then," K.T. concluded skeptically, his arms folded across his chest.  
  
"Somewhat," Johnny replied. "You're the new anarch in town. Everyone wants to know who you are."  
  
"Try asking," K.T. grumbled, looking around. Johnny smiled.  
  
"Now how many times has that ever worked?" the young kindred asked. K.T. looked him over dryly for a long moment. "Hey, don't hassle it. It's all good!"  
  
"It's all good?" K.T. repeated, arching an eyebrow. Johnny nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he continued. "I heard you're going to blow up something of Archon's tonight. I got a better idea. I was kind of following you around because I need some muscle for a job I want to pull in a gallery in North Beach. Pasquale Ianetti, if you've ever heard of it. And you might be interested to know that the primogen of the Toreador owns it."  
  
"If you've been following me around, maybe you heard that I want a shot at Archon, not the Toreador," K.T. pointed out.  
  
"Have you heard of Julian Luna?" Johnny inquired.  
  
"Yeah, I heard he must be the Terminator, with the way the anarchs talk about him," K.T. answered. Johnny nodded.  
  
"Yeah, he seems to be pretty tough," the anarch said. "Well, he's all involved with Lillie or something."  
  
"Lillie?" K.T. repeated. "I take it that's the Toreador primogen."  
  
"Right you are," Johnny said. "So you see, if we hit Pasquale Ianetti and get something decent, then we mess with Lillie, which means we get Julian, and that means we get Archon by default."  
  
K.T. looked at him for a long moment.  
  
"That has to be about the most bizarre logic I've ever heard," the Gangrel finally said.   
  
"Why?" Johnny asked, looking confused. "You get to mess with the establishment this way. What's wrong?"  
  
"Okay, I'm going to go real slow this time, so you understand what I'm saying," K.T. said, irritated. He started to speak exceedingly slowly. "I am not here after anyone but Archon, and maybe Stevie Ray. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yeah, I understand," Johnny said. He cursed inwardly, knowing that Siras and Butterfly were probably already on the way to Pasquale Ianetti to wait for the pair. "But I happen to know that Julian keeps some files on the computer in the office, ones that might be very important and crucial to the anarchs getting a shot at Archon. If you got them, Archon would be forced to remember you. And if he falls, well, you were involved because he spited you. Think of how many princes would guarantee you your autarkis-ship then."  
  
"Alright, fine, we'll go to Pasquale Ianetti," K.T. said, frustrated. There was something about this vampire that wasn't quite right. He was most likely either a spy for Terry, which meant that K.T. had to act as much like an anarch as possible, or he was Archon's man, which meant that Archon might have some news for him. "So, you going to tell me where it is?"  
  
"Just follow me," Johnny said, leading the way up the alley towards the street beyond. "Of course, we'll have to acquire some transportation along the way. Walking just isn't my style."  
  
  
VI  
  
"I don't know what color your eyes are, baby, but your hair is long and brown..." Butterfly sang quietly as she sat on top of one of the apartment buildings that stood opposite Pasquale Ianetti. She was about to sing the second line to the song when Siras ripped her headphones off, ending her impromptu rendition of the Love and Rockets song that was currently high on the Top 20 charts.  
  
"Shut up," the older vampire hissed, his expression showing his anger at her. "The last thing I need is to be noticed up here. Now pay attention."  
  
"Oh, yes, my lord," Butterfly said, feigning remorse. Siras ignored her as much as he could, and turned back to the art gallery that stood across the street. With Johnny's apparent reluctance to see the Gangrel as anything more than someone with a hard on for avenging petty slights, the young vampire's sire had decided to take matters into his own hands. He would decide for himself whether or not the newcomer to the city was anything more than a wannabe anarch, and if he decided that the Gangrel was a threat, tonight would be the last night that the Gangrel would remain a threat. After another moment of watching, a car slowly pulled to a halt in front of the gallery, and two people stepped out onto the street.  
  
K.T. slowly got out of the 1988 Mercury Cougar that Johnny had "acquired" in Chinatown, and looked around. In the last twenty minutes, Johnny had managed to lift two wallets, steal a car in record time, and was now appraising the front door to Pasquale Ianetti with the look of one who thought this was child's play. K.T. glanced around the street, wondering how long it would take for someone living in this neighborhood to realize what the kleptomaniac kindred was up to.  
  
"Don't you think the back door would be a better idea?" the Gangrel suggested, not wanting to deal with the police should someone be taking notice of the situation.  
  
"This'll only take a minute," Johnny said absently, walking up to the door and kneeling in front of the lock. True to his word, in about a minute the anarch heard a satisfying click, and pushed the door open gently.  
  
"Nice job," K.T. remarked as the younger vampire walked in and motioned for the Gangrel to join him.  
  
"It's a talent," Johnny said, closing the door and turning to the interior. Another pair of glass doors blocked the way. "Now remember, once we get inside, don't go anywhere unless I tell you it's safe to. Understand?"  
  
"Hey, you're the burglar," K.T. said. Johnny nodded, and started to work on the glass doors. In a matter of seconds, he had them open too, and walked inside.  
  
K.T. watched with a bit of interest as Johnny disabled security measure after security measure, doing it all as if this was what he had been born to do. Slowly they made their way through the first floor, passing a large number of oil prints done by what K.T. figured were the masters of contemporary art. Johnny led the pair up the stairs, stopping to take out the motion detectors in the stairwell, and gestured to a door marked "Private" across the large second floor gallery.  
  
"That's what we want," Johnny said quietly. He started across the floor, stopping only once to deal with a pair of security cameras, and stopped in front of the door.  
  
"Well, here we are," Johnny said, kneeling in front of the door to go to work on the lock. K.T. looked around for a moment, then stopped as he thought he saw something in the dark gallery.  
  
"Think we got company," the Gangrel said. He moved back a step, drawing his gun, and suddenly felt himself bump the anarch.  
  
"Shit!" Johnny cursed in a harsh whisper. K.T. looked back down as the anarch got to his feet. "You just made me-"  
  
K.T. clamped his hand down over Johnny's mouth, his gun now out and his eyes searching the darkness for any sign of the intruder. He was certain he had seen someone, and the only reason he wasn't yet using his ability of night vision was the glow his eyes would give off once he had activated the power. Johnny glanced around as well, though he hadn't yet drawn a weapon.  
  
"We have to get out of here soon," the anarch said. "You made me set off the alarm system in the door lock. There must be something pretty sensitive in here, for them to have rigged the lock like they did."  
  
"You think we have time to get it?" K.T. inquired. He half hoped the answer would be no; though he didn't much care if Archon stayed in power or fell, it was usually difficult to receive payment from a deposed prince.  
  
"Yeah, I think so," Johnny said, pushing the door open. "We'll just grab all the disks we can find and bug out of here real fast."  
  
"But there's someone else in this gallery!" K.T. hissed, glancing around the floor once again. Johnny walked past him, and looked out into the gallery.  
  
"Alright, Butterfly, come out," Johnny said simply. A moment later the young woman with the wings attached to her jacket appeared.  
  
"Well, I guess I wasn't as good as I thought I was," the young anarch said, shrugging. Johnny looked a bit upset with her, but reined in his anger for the moment.  
  
"Keep a look out for any guards or cops," the thief said, already turning and walking into the room. K.T. watched Butterfly head down the stairs for a moment, then followed Johnny into the office.  
  
Although K.T. figured that few people ever saw the inside of this office, the place was set up almost like the rest of the gallery. A large oil print covered each wall, and where the wall showed through it was done up in expensive mahogany paneling. A single black lacquered desk stood in front of the far wall, a computer set on top of it. A bookshelf full of art history books stood to the left of the desk. Johnny immediately made his way to the desk and started to open up the drawers, taking a moment to pick the locks on each drawer. K.T. continually glanced between the door and the thief, wishing he would be a bit faster in his search.  
  
"Got it," Johnny finally said with a smile, standing up. He tossed a small plastic diskette container to the Gangrel, and K.T. opened it quickly to check what was inside. The disks were only labeled one through six, but he was certain that there was somewhat sensitive information on each of them. He turned to the door, then stopped as he heard someone crash into the first floor of the gallery. "Shit," Johnny said, lowering his voice. K.T. drew his Ruger and carefully peered into the second floor gallery.  
  
"No one yet," the Gangrel whispered. "Think you can get us out of one of the skylights or windows quietly?"  
  
"I think so, as long as they don't come up here quickly," Johnny replied in a low voice. "Shit, where the fuck is Butterfly?"  
  
"Probably harassing whoever's downstairs," K.T. replied. He suddenly saw someone rush quietly up the stairs and head towards the door.  
  
"Johnny, someone's here!" Butterfly called out through the silence of the gallery.  
  
"Oh, fuck me," K.T. grumbled, covering the disgusted look on his face with one hand. Already he could hear the people that were downstairs rushing for the staircase. "Should I shoot her now?"  
  
"Oh, come on, this'll be fun," Butterfly said. "I recognized the two that came in. They're both Gangrel. Stevie Ray's childer, I think."  
  
"Yeah, this'll be a blast," K.T. said sarcastically. Two people suddenly came up the stairs, one male and one female. K.T., Johnny, and Butterfly all ducked into the office, but didn't risk closing the door. For a long moment they waited silently in the office for whoever was in the gallery to come into clear view.  
  
"Come on out," a young man called from the gallery. "Make it easy on yourselves, and just give back whatever you took. We might forget we found you."  
  
K.T. glanced out into the gallery again, and saw two pairs of red pinpoints of light in the gallery. Butterfly had been right in assuming they were Gangrel, he thought as he recognized the protean ability of night vision. He ducked back quickly, knowing that they could see perfectly well in the darkness. Knowing that the darkness was no longer an ally of his, he focused his blood and activated his own night vision, then glanced back into the gallery. One man to his left, with spiky hair and a thin goatee. A young woman was already moving to the right, with long, straight hair, most likely blond though his nightvision only allowed him to see in shades of red. Even as he sized up his opponents, the man raised a gun and fired at him. K.T. jumped back behind the wall, then dropped to one knee and fired two rounds into the gallery. Both of the newcomers ducked back behind cover. K.T. thought about using the AK for a moment, but then decided against shredding two of Archon's enforcers if he could still find a way out. As the woman appeared from behind a pillar, the mercenary raised his gun and fired again, just catching her in the shoulder as she tried to duck back.  
  
"What the hell are you shooting at?" Butterfly asked, looking out into the gallery. Without night vision, both she and Johnny were at a distinct disadvantage in this fight.  
  
"Just find another way out!" K.T. shouted, putting one more bullet into the young woman's knee. She fell to the ground, screaming in pain. The young man rolled behind a sculpture and fired three more times, the last bullet skimming over K.T.'s shoulder and just nicking his duster. Johnny fired four times into the darkness, then dropped back.  
  
"Get ready to run!" he ordered.  
  
"We have two determined problems, in case you didn't know!" K.T. retorted. The woman had already dragged herself to her feet again, and fired into the door. Butterfly took one glancing hit, and dropped back farther into the office. K.T. leaned around the doorframe again, trying to get a good shot on either attacker.  
  
Suddenly the entire gallery was engulfed in darkness. K.T. tried to see through it, but even his night vision could not penetrate the black shroud. He glanced back to Johnny, but the anarch was already on his feet and moving.  
  
"Come on!" he shouted. "You think that darkness is going to last forever?"  
  
K.T. jumped up and bolted after Johnny for where he thought the staircase was, hearing gunfire hit the office behind him and feeling one bullet almost catch him in the side. He sprinted for all he was worth across the gallery, and suddenly felt the ground drop out beneath him. Half skidding and half falling down the staircase to the first floor, the Gangrel managed to keep on his feet until he hit the bottom, out of the shroud of darkness on the second floor. A moment later Butterfly fell out of the shroud, tumbling down the stairs and landing in an acrobatic roll. Johnny was already at the door, glancing out at the pair of Harleys that the Gangrel had most likely ridden to the scene.  
  
"Looks like we beat the cops by about a minute," he said with a grin. "Come on. You want one of the bikes they came on?"  
  
"We don't have time," K.T. snapped. "Let's just get that car moving again and get the hell out of Dodge."  
  
"I'll take a bike," Butterfly chimed in. Johnny turned to her, looking a bit angry.  
  
"You can try to take it yourself," he said. "What kind of stupid stunt was that? We could have avoided that entire fight!"  
  
"Oh, but it was fun!" Butterfly protested.  
  
"Time to go," K.T. observed, seeing the two Gangrel falling down the stairs themselves. Johnny nodded, and jumped into the Cougar they had come in. By the time the two Gangrel had gotten to the front door, K.T. and Johnny had escaped in the car, and Butterfly was driving off on one of the Harleys in a different direction.  
  
Cash and Shelly raced out of the doors of Pasquale Ianetti, Shelly still hobbling a little as she finished healing the injury she had taken to her knee. Cash raised his gun to fire at the receding vehicles, but then lowered his weapon.  
  
"Fuck!" he screamed into the air in anger. "You're dead, you hear me? All three of you are so fucking dead!"  
  
"Come on, Cash," Shelly said, looking disgusted with the entire deal. "I'll give you a ride back to your apartment."  
  
Cash glared off in the direction of his stolen Harley once more, then turned and jumped onto the other bike behind Shelly. It would have been bad enough as it was, but he was certain that Stevie Ray would never let his first childe live this one down. Sometimes it sucked to be the second in command of the clan, Cash thought to himself as he tried to figure out how to get his bike back.  
  
Johnny finally pulled the stolen Cougar to a stop along a street in North Beach, and the two silently got out. The Steps of Rome coffee house was just up a few stairs, with several tables set up for exterior use. Johnny sat down at one of the tables, and after a moment K.T. followed suit. The pair sat there for a long moment, looking each other over.  
  
"Why didn't you use the AK?" Johnny asked, gesturing to the stock of the weapon only marginally concealed under the Gangrel's duster.  
  
"Because SWAT would have responded, along with about three times as many cops," K.T. replied. "Besides, I have nothing personal against other Gangrel. Just Stevie Ray and Archon, that's all."  
  
"If you want to get to Archon and Stevie Ray, you're going to have to go through them," Johnny explained. "I think the one there was a guy named Cash, Stevie Ray's first childe. He'll try to take you down if you even look wrong at his sire. I hear Gangrel are that way."  
  
"I hear that too," K.T. said, a faint tone of bitterness in his voice. "So, are you one of the other two anarch gangs in town?"  
  
"Maybe," Johnny replied. "I pretty much come and go as I please, though."  
  
"You've got to be rabble, then," K.T., looking up as he noticed a young waitress come outside to take their orders. Johnny smirked.  
  
"Could be," the thief said, "but probably not. I don't keep in touch with the family much."  
  
K.T. nodded in understanding as the waitress reached them. Through his abandonment of the Brujah clan, he was a Caitiff, or clanless vampire. In most cases, Caitiff were the lowest rung of the vampiric social ladder, and more than a few had turned to the anarchs.  
  
"You two want anything to drink?" she asked, holding back her irritation at having to serve the two people sitting out in the cold.  
  
"I'll just have an espresso," Johnny said with a friendly smile. Then he turned to K.T. "You want anything?"  
  
"Nah, that's alright," K.T. replied, holding up a hand. "Coffee houses aren't my speed."  
  
"You two sure you don't want to come inside?" the waitress asked, her teeth already chattering a little. "We have some room, you know."  
  
"No, I won't be here long," K.T. said. Johnny nodded his agreement to the waitress, then handed her a twenty.  
  
"That should cover the inconvenience," the anarch said with a grin. The waitress' smile became a bit more genuine at the thought of an eighteen dollar tip, and hurried back inside to get his coffee. As she left, Johnny turned back to K.T.  
  
"You always feel the need to eat and drink?" K.T. inquired, still trying to get used to the fact that there were vampires who still seemed to enjoy eating. The thief shurgged.  
  
"Hey, I like espresso," he said, taking a small statuette from one of his pockets. As K.T. looked over it, he suddenly realized that it had been in one of the display cases at Pasquale Ianetti.  
  
"How'd you get your hands on that?" he asked, a bit impressed. Johnny smiled.  
  
"I'm just that good," he said as he produced a wallet from another of his pockets. "And this is yours."  
  
"I've killed people for doing that," K.T. said a bit angrily as he took the wallet back. He flipped through it quickly, to make sure everything was there, then replaced it in his pocket. "You always steal the wallets of the people you run with?"  
  
"Only when I feel like it," Johnny replied with a smirk, satisfied with his prank on the Gangrel. "Lighten up, I didn't take anything. You checked yourself."  
  
K.T. nodded, and the two sat in silence for a moment. Again each one seemed to eye the other up as inconspicuously as possible.  
  
"So, do you have the disks?" K.T. asked.  
  
"I gave them to you," Johnny said. "You have them."  
  
"No I don't," K.T. said, feeling through his pockets. He came up with the small box in his largest pocket, but pretended that they weren't there. "Did you drop them?"  
  
"No, you must have," Johnny said. Then he put his head down on the table, and his voice took on a tone of disgust. "Well, that was totally worthless."  
  
"Son of a bitch," K.T. grumbled. Then he stood up as the waitress returned. "See you around, Johnny," K.T. said, his voice also showing his disgust. He continued with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "Let me know if you have any other wonderful ideas."  
  
"Yeah, sure," Johnny said, watching the Gangrel leave.   
  
Johnny remained at the table for another fifteen minutes, slowly drinking his espresso and then ordering another one. Finally, he looked to the street to see both Butterfly and Siras walking up the steps to the outdoor cafe. They both sat down at the table with him, and looked him over for a moment.  
  
"Well?" Siras asked, looking back to the street for a moment.  
  
"He doesn't act very interested in us," Johnny replied. "But he's not just someone pissed with the prince."  
  
"Are you sure about your first assumption?" Siras inquired, a slight edge to his voice. "He was in the shadows across the street for the last ten minutes. It was why we didn't approach earlier."  
  
"Like I said, he's not just a pissed off autarkis," Johnny said. "But he's not here for us. I think he might want a shot at the prince for something other than revenge."  
  
"Like what?" Siras asked. The older kindred sat waiting for an answer that would make him think something other than his original suspicions.  
  
"I don't know," the thief replied. "But he still has those disks I handed him, even though he says he dropped them in the gallery."  
  
"So he's working for the prince," Butterfly concluded. "He's probably one of Stevie Ray's childer that no one has seen."  
  
"Maybe," Johnny said, though he wasn't certain that was it. "But his license was from Kansas."  
  
"How do you know?" Siras asked.  
  
"I borrowed it," Johnny replied simply.  
  
"Gangrel travel all the time," Butterfly explained, continuing her theory. "Maybe he left, but still comes back to help out the prince every once in a while."  
  
"It's reaching," Siras said. "It's reaching a whole lot."  
  
"And his being after us isn't," Johnny countered. Siras was about to reprimand the thief, but Butterfly continued to make her point.  
  
"That has to be why he just didn't open up on the Gangrel we ran into," the young vampire pressed. "He had that AK the whole time. He could have just sprayed the gallery and put them both down!"  
  
"Listen, I know who he is now," Johnny said. "I took his wallet. His name is K.T. Corben. All we have to do is punch it into a computer or ask around a little bit."  
  
"Ask who?" Siras demanded. Johnny shrugged.   
  
"Maybe someone in San Jose or Oakland knows something about him," the thief replied. "It might take a couple of days, but like you said, unless he sees you, we don't have much to worry about."  
  
"Then stay with him," Siras ordered Johnny. "Butterfly, you said you met some people in San Jose. I want you to check up on our mystery guest. And I want the information by the end of tomorrow night. That means no dicking around. Get it done."  
  
"Sure, Siras," Butterfly said. She stood up and started for the stairs. "I wanted to go to San Jose tonight, anyway."  
  
"Good," Siras said with a bit of a stern look. "Now go."  
  
Butterfly turned and jumped down the three steps, then hurried into a dark alley across the street. After a moment, she had picked up Cash's stolen Harley and was driving away down the street. Siras turned back to Johnny after watching his grandchilde leave.  
  
"I hope you're not becoming too much of a friend with the Gangrel," the older man said. "The time will most likely come when we have to kill him."  
  
"If it comes down to that, I will not disobey you, sire," Johnny said. He finished the last of his second espresso, then stood up. "Besides, Gangrel aren't my favorite people. They're too antisocial."  
  
"Keep it that way," Siras said. "Now see if you can track the Gangrel down and keep with him."  
  
As K.T. hurried down Route 101 towards San Jose, he started to wonder who exactly Johnny was. The thief was obviously something more than just an anarch, considering his questions and constant sizing up. Of course, if Johnny was as attentive as K.T. figured he was, the thief was probably going over the same questions in his own mind right now about K.T. Although he had returned the wallet, K.T. had the feeling that Johnny had at least looked up his full name, to try and find out more about him. K.T. pushed his Indian bike a bit harder as he swerved around the slower moving cars on 101, seeing the lights of San Jose ahead as he came up on the signs for Redwood City. He was still fairly far north of the actual city of San Jose, but he was now extremely close to Stanford University, his final destination. He passed Redwood City and turned onto Local Route 84, taking it to El Camino Real and turning south again until he reached the town of Menlo Park. He turned left onto Alpine Road and came to a stop only a block in, in front of a two story brown and tan Mission style home set back on an impeccably manicured lawn. He stopped his bike in the driveway and started up to the front door, noticing the expected gray Jaguar and a sky blue Ford Escort that he didn't recognize. Hesitating a moment, he finally decided that he wouldn't need to worry about bothering whoever had stopped over to visit the man he was looking for.  
  
The door opened up even before he knocked. K.T. found himself looking at a somewhat thin man of around fifty who was only an inch shorter, with brown eyes and short, neatly combed black hair. He smiled as he saw his guest, and stepped back into the house to let K.T. in.  
  
"K.T. Corben," he said as K.T. stepped into the white painted foyer. "Christ, it's been almost thirty years since I've seen you!"  
  
"What the hell happened to you?" K.T. asked, gesturing to the man's head with a slightly stunned look.  
  
"I finally shaved, after a century or so," the man answered. "What are you doing in the Bay Area?"  
  
"Oh, I'm on a little job," the Gangrel replied, following his host into the cozy living room of the house. Inside, sitting on a white couch in front of the living room's large picture window, was a young woman of twenty-two, with brown hair down past her shoulders and what had to have been the clearest blue eyes the Gangrel had ever seen. She looked up at him with a bit of curiosity, then to the host.  
  
"Oh, K.T. Corben, this is Jessica Sprague," he said, introducing the two. "Jessica is one of my most talented pupils. She has a true gift for satire."  
  
"You know, Ambrose, you haven't been the same since you started shaving and combing your hair," K.T. said, turning to his host. "I mean, what happened? Did you lose your edge?"  
  
"Those big bushy beards went out of style by the nineteen teens," Ambrose Bierce explained. "And, you know, I was respectable even in my day. It was just that no one liked me poking fun at them."  
  
"And my, did he do a lot of that," Jessica added, smiling a little. "He's still ghost writing into the Herald every once in a while. You'd think a century of cynicism would be enough for anyone."  
  
"My dear, this world is in dire need of a realist like me," Ambrose said. Then he turned to K.T. "So, what is it you were looking for in mi casa?"  
  
"I happened to pick up a little dirt on the last prince in the Bay Area," K.T. replied, walking with Ambrose as he headed into the kitchen. "I was wondering if you could get me a hard copy of it. After all, you're the one that took to computers so well."  
  
"Dirt on the prince," Ambrose said, thinking about the prospects. He opened up the refrigerator as he reached the kitchen and removed a bottle of blood from the top shelf.  
  
"I don't want this information spread around for some time," the Gangrel informed him. "I'm doing a job, and to be selling all this information would be breach of contract."  
  
"Did he tell you not to sell off information about him?" Ambrose asked as he took three wine glasses from the wooden rack over the sink. He handed one over to the Gangrel, then started to pour the blood into it.  
  
"No," K.T. replied. Ambrose smiled.  
  
"Then it's his loss," the satirist said with a chuckle.   
  
"Come on," K.T. said. "It's just not in good form. Did Pancho Villa screw with your head that much?"  
  
Ambrose nodded, though he looked a bit disappointed.  
  
"Alright, alright, I won't sell anything tonight," Ambrose said. "But I might need some insurance money, to make sure no unruly types come by and swipe the information from under my nose."  
  
"Ten thousand dollars," K.T. said as he followed the satirist back into the living room. "That enough insurance money?"  
  
"Well, I guess so," Ambrose said with a grin. "Come on, I'm sure you're getting well paid for this job. Ever since Charleston, you seem to think you're the primo mercenary in the vampire world."  
  
"I am," K.T. said with a ghost of a smile. Jessica giggled a little.  
  
"You're probably the only one, too," she pointed out. K.T. shrugged.  
  
"I can't help it if everyone is scared of the competition," the Gangrel said. He turned to Ambrose, and handed the disks to him. "Think you can get me a hard copy tonight?"  
  
"Oh, a rush job," Ambrose said, finishing filling the glasses. "I just don't know if I have the time. After all, I have these papers to mark, and-"  
  
"Fifteen," K.T. offered.  
  
"Twenty," Ambrose countered. K.T. nodded, disgusted, and the satirist took the disks. "Wait around, and I'll have it done by dawn. I'll even give you a place to stay for the day."  
  
"Fine," K.T. said. "Just get me out of here before you bleed me of another twenty thousand."  
  
"Now would I do a thing like that?" Ambrose asked with as innocent a smile as he could muster.   
  
"Don't make me answer that truthfully," K.T. grumbled  
  
  
VII  
  
Johnny sat on the fire escape to the apartment and looked in with a bit of curiosity. The thief had purposely chosen a haven near the building he had discovered that K.T. was staying in, and had gotten to the Gangrel's haven before he could have gone anywhere. But still, there was no one in the living room, and from what he could tell, there wasn't anyone in any other part of the apartment. Not only that, but K.T.'s bike wasn't parked anywhere near the building. Carefully Johnny took out his glass cutter, took out a small circle of glass, and then reached in and unlocked the window. Taking one last look inside, the thief finally opened the window and eased himself into the apartment.  
  
The apartment was only two rooms and a kitchen. The living room was largely bare except for one couch against the wall on his left, and the walls themselves had streaks of black against a solid dirty gray background. The kitchen was also in desperate need of a cleaning; one or two roaches scurried across the narrow counter, and grease stains covered the oven. If the refrigerator worked, it would have been a miracle, considering how derelict the appliance seemed. Two doors were set into the wall on his right, one leading to a fairly disgusting bathroom and the other to what he guessed was the bedroom. Carefully, Johnny opened the door and peered in.  
  
Through the darkness there appeared to be no one home. Johnny flipped on the light switch to reveal a double bed with fairly clean sheets and a thick Navajo blanket in white and red. A somewhat used dresser and mirror stood on the wall next to a small closet, both in far better condition than the rest of the apartment. Even the walls were far cleaner, looking like the off white paint had been applied far more recently than the rest of the apartment's paint. Johnny walked quietly to the dresser, and started to open the drawers. Just a couple of shirts, some socks and boxers, a box of .44 bullets, and a sharpening stone. Not even the AK-47 was around. He started to look in the closet, but except for two pairs of jeans and an empty pair of saddlebags on the floor, there was nothing interesting there. Finally, deciding that the Gangrel either remembered everything he needed to know or took it all with him, he turned back to the door and got ready to leave.  
  
He stopped dead in his tracks as he heard the apartment door get thrown open. At least three or four people rushed into the building, and the thief could hear a pair of shotguns being pumped in the living room. He was about to dive for cover when the door was thrown open and two fairly large men entered, both leveling shotguns at him.  
  
"Excuse me, but have you seen a Gangrel around here?" Johnny asked, hoping they'd think he was out to get K.T. as much as they were. The two men merely stepped to each side of the door, allowing a third person in.  
  
"No, but we were hoping you could tell us where the mercenary is," the newcomer said, looking over Johnny with his dark brown eyes. He pushed his long brown hair to one side as he stepped forward, holding a serrated knife in his free hand. Johnny recognized him instantly as Terry McMichael, the closest thing to a leader that the anarchs had. "After all, you've been hanging out with him lately."  
  
"Only to see what he was up to," Johnny replied. "You said he was a mercenary?"  
  
"Yes, he is," Terry affirmed. "But you probably know that already, since you gave him the excuse he needed not to hit one of Archon's biggest business interests."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Johnny asked. "I led him right to one of Archon's-"  
  
"You did nothing of the sort!" Terry suddenly shouted, cutting the thief off. He turned to the man on his right. "Colbrunn, teach him some manners."  
  
Johnny was almost ready to react to the shot, but Colbrunn was amazingly fast. He aimed and fired just as Johnny registered the movement, hitting him in the knee and dropping him instantly. The thief hit the ground with a howl of pain, holding his shattered knee in agony. By the time he had healed enough of the wound to move again, Terry was standing over him, the knife at his throat.  
  
"If you thought Colbrunn was fast, wait'll you see how quickly I can decapitate or stake you," the anarch leader said coldly. Johnny simply waited to see what the man would do. After a moment, Terry stood up, and looked the place over. "So, when is your animalistic little friend coming back?"  
  
"I told you, I'm looking for him, too," Johnny retorted. "We have a common interest! Let's bag this freak and get on with our lives!"  
  
"I'd love to believe you," Terry said, turning back to him. "Really I would. But you leave me with no option. Colbrunn, jog his memory."  
  
Colbrunn pumped and fired again with amazing speed. Already injured, Johnny wasn't able to get completely out of the way of the blast, and lost two fingers off of the end of his left hand. He let out another cry of pain, and cradled his wounded hand to his chest. Terry knelt next to him, idly watching the light in the room play off the shimmering blade of his knife.  
  
"Now, are you beginning to remember where you might have left him?" the anarch leader inquired, though his attention wasn't completely on the thief. Johnny considered for a moment drawing his own knife and cutting into the anarch, but looked up and saw Colbrunn's cold blue eyes watching, hoping for an excuse to blow the thief in half. "I understand you're trying to gauge your chances of escape, so let me tell you that, should you make it to the fire escape, one of my Assamites will make sure you never get one floor down."  
  
"Assamites?" Johnny repeated, shocked. Assamites were hired assassins, and usually only the princes or primogen could afford them. Terry looked down at him, and nodded.  
  
"Yes, Assamites," the anarch leader confirmed. "Two of them came with me from San Diego."  
  
"Who the hell are you?" Johnny asked, disbelievingly.  
  
"Someone who wants to know where K.T. Corben is," Terry replied. He grabbed Johnny by his chin and held his face still, getting ready to carve with the knife.  
  
"Terry, he just showed up!" a female voice called from the doorway. Terry relinquished his grip and turned quickly, but didn't allow Johnny to get a glimpse of what sounded like a familiar voice.  
  
"Just when I was getting artistic," Terry groaned in disgust. He turned back to Johnny, looking extremely disappointed. "Well, looks like you get a reprieve, for now."  
  
Johnny was just about to smile when the anarch leader rammed his knife through the thief's heart.  
  
K.T. stopped as he reached the door to his apartment, and drew his Ruger as he saw that someone had knocked in his door. Slowly he started to push the door open, ready to gun anyone down if he was in any danger.  
  
"K.T.?" he suddenly heard Torrey say, sounding terrified. He pushed the door the rest of the way open, and stepped in to see Gino, Terry's Brujah associate, holding her in front of him, a .357 Magnum to her head.  
  
"That's far enough," Terry said, standing in the doorway to his bedroom. The anarch leader smiled coldly as he looked the Gangrel over.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" K.T. demanded angrily. He glanced over at Torrey, then to Terry. "What the fuck is going on?"  
  
"I thought you might like to explain that to me, mercenary," Terry spat. "I thought you were asking too many questions. I checked up with a friend in Detroit. Does the name Don Diego de Castille ring a bell?"  
  
"Yeah, it does," K.T. replied, deciding to try honesty. "I worked with him about four years ago. Now answer this. How the hell do you know him?"  
  
"Because," Terry started with a wicked grin, "we both have the same political affiliations."  
  
"Sabbat," K.T. said quietly, a hint of disbelief in his voice.  
  
"Oh my God," Torrey whispered. She tried to break free of the big man's grasp, but he pulled her even closer, shooting her once in the foot to accentuate his point. K.T. started to bring his gun back around, but Terry and a fourth man moved out of the bedroom, the enforcer carrying a shotgun and Terry raising an AK-47. "Please, K.T., help me!"  
  
"So, what, you think I'm working for someone against you?" K.T. asked, acting as indignant as he could. Torrey tried to pull away once more, terror written on her features, but stopped as the .357 came back to her temple. Terry motioned to the man next to him.  
  
"Colbrunn, show K.T. what you found following him to the warehouse," the anarch leader said. The enforcer reached back into the room and brought a garbage bag out, then spilled its contents onto the floor. Rolling to a stop on the stump of its neck was the severed head of a Nosferatu vampire, judging by the hideous features of the face.  
  
"That proves nothing," K.T. growled. "Nosferatu follow everyone around, just because they can."  
  
"Yes, but few will tell a story of a mercenary hired by a prince to track down anarchs when tortured," Terry pointed out. K.T. cursed inwardly at the Nosferatu for giving him away. "Besides, someone of your... exceptional talents should have known he was following you. Don't expect me to believe anything you say, mercenary."  
  
"Well then, I guess there's only one option left," K.T. said, pulling back the hammer of the Ruger with his thumb. Terry smiled, and gestured to Torrey.   
  
"Oh, we'll make sure she dies in a horrible way if you try something stupid," the anarch leader commented. The Gangrel looked from Terry to Torrey for a long moment.  
  
"Keep her," K.T. finally said. He fired twice, the rounds going through Torrey's shoulder and hitting Gino behind her. He turned and fired two more shots, pushing Terry and Colbrunn back into the bedroom, then started to back out of the door when he was shot twice in the knee, dropping him to the ground. The Gangrel quickly pulled himself into a sitting position and was about to fire at the shooter when he saw who had pulled the trigger.  
  
"Torrey?" he exclaimed, shocked. In his second's hesitation, she shot him again, the bullet punching through his stomach. He tried to shoot, but Colbrunn had recovered, and pumped a shotgun shell through his side, causing him to nearly black out with pain. By the time he recovered enough, the Gangrel had been dragged back into the apartment and was faced with two shotguns, an AK-47, and a .38 revolver pointed at his head.  
  
"I can't believe you shot me!" Torrey exclaimed, looking at the bullet holes in her tight black blouse. "How'd you know I was in on it?"  
  
"I didn't," K.T. replied, smiling a bit. "I figured you could get free if I hit the guy behind you."  
  
"Gee, thanks," Torrey said sarcastically. Then she pistol whipped him into unconsciousness.  
  
Siras sat quietly and watched the Forty-Niners preview on the television set above the bar he had picked out on Anze Street, listening to the quiet conversations of the bar and drinking the last of his Anchor Porter as he glanced to the door yet again. He had sent Johnny to find out if the Gangrel had returned to his haven the night before, and if he could track the Gangrel wherever he went to deliver information. He had also sent Butterfly as backup, though the thought of trusting her for anything, even the marginally more useful life of his thief, unsettled him. The older vampire was certain that, should she have to stand watch for more than five minutes, the young anarch would probably wander away to enjoy the night life of San Francisco in a better area of the city than Bayview. Siras had just motioned to the bartender for another pitcher of the local brew when he heard Butterfly start to curse out the bouncer at the door of the establishment. He put up a hand as the bartender started to fill his pitcher, dropped a ten on the counter, and walked to the front door.  
  
"Come on, I'll kick your ass, you big asshole!" Butterfly threatened angrily. the bouncer was about to say something when Siras walked between him and the girl, picking Butterfly up by her jacket and carrying her out, still threatening the bouncer. When he finally got her a block away, he threw her against the nearest wall and glared at her.  
  
"What the hell is going on?" he demanded angrily. "This had better be good!"  
  
"The anarchs took Johnny and that Gangrel out of his apartment," Butterfly said, showing only a slight hint of concern for her sire's safety. "I don't know what was going on, but they left and headed out along Clement Street towards the city. I tailed them up into the Presidio. They went to an Army hospital near O'Reilly Avenue."  
  
"The anarchs?" Siras repeated. "Why?"  
  
"Maybe they found something out about the Gangrel that we didn't," Butterfly replied. "Maybe I was right when I said he was working for the prince." She giggled a little bit. "And I was just joking around then."  
  
"But why did they take Johnny?" Siras pressed. He cursed as he realized the answer to his own question. "Shit. They must have thought the two of them were partners after the break-in at Pasquale Ianetti. Come on, we don't have much time."  
  
K.T. woke up slowly, a dull ache forming in his forehead where Torrey had pistol whipped him. As his vision started to slowly clear from vague blurs to actual objects, the Gangrel tried to figure out where he was. He heard a gasp next to him, and strained his neck to look up over his head, across a large table at Johnny Yashida. The thief must have been put into torpor by Terry, judging by the bloodied knife the Sabbat leader held in his hand. He glanced around the rest of the room, finding himself held by leather straps to an examination table in what looked like an old hospital room. White and light green tiles made up the walls, broken up at regular intervals by iron barred windows. the only thing that looked like it was in new condition was the small table filled with medical instruments set between his head and Johnny's. He could just barely touch the thief's hands with his fingers; they had wheeled in an extra gurney and put Johnny on that.  
  
"I hope the both of you are comfortable," Terry said, standing between the two of them and appraising the pair. "After all, I don't want you to be uncomfortable before we begin."  
  
"Begin what?" K.T. asked, showing none of the fear that was starting to rise up in him. He wasn't about to let this asshole frighten him.  
  
"Why, the interrogation, of course," Terry answered, kneeling next to K.T.'s head. "Now, I don't know how much the two of you care about each other, but I think we're going to find out over the next couple of days."  
  
"Couple of days?" Johnny repeated, sounding a bit nervous. Terry turned back to him, and smiled. K.T. glanced around the room quickly, seeing Gino, Colbrunn, and Torrey all present. In addition, Torrey's sire, Maria, was leaning against the doorframe, an elegant rapier belted onto her waist.  
  
"That's right, couple of days," Terry said. "See, I pretty much have this part of the hospital for as long as I want. Which means that you two will die in two, maybe three days if you tell me what I want to know. If you don't want to talk, well, I can do this for weeks at a time. It's a hobby, you might say."  
  
"Come on, K.T., just tell us what you told Archon about us," Torrey said, walking over to him. she knelt next to him, and caressed his cheek. "Please, do it for me. Terry said he'd even consider letting you become Sabbat if you did."  
  
"That would be absolutely nothing," K.T. said, glaring up at her. "Do me a favor, Torrey. Go take a stroll along the waterfront sometime this afternoon."  
  
"I knew he wouldn't go for it," Terry said, shaking his head. Then he turned to Johnny. "What about you, thief? You ready to spill?"  
  
"I don't have anything to spill on this bastard," Johnny retorted. "I told you, we were looking for him too."  
  
"Who's we?" Terry inquired. "Are you part of the prince's little espionage team like our mercenary friend is?"  
  
"No," Johnny replied. "I'm just wandering Caitiff. We kind of thought he was hunting us."  
  
"Who is we?" Terry asked again, stressing the question.  
  
"My sire and I," Johnny replied. Terry nodded, smiling a little.  
  
"And I'm supposed to believe that this mercenary is hunting you and your sire," the Sabbat leader said. "Why would I believe such a load of shit?"  
  
"Because it's true," K.T. lied. "I was here looking for him and his sire, and I knew they were hiding in the anarch community."  
  
"They weren't," Terry informed him. "I've only seen this idiot and some little girl with butterfly wings once or twice. I've never seen anyone that could pass for his sire."  
  
"Well, that might be because you're blind," Johnny said. "My sire has been here the whole time. You just never see him."  
  
"This is getting us nowhere," Maria said, standing up straight and starting to K.T. She leaned down next to him, practically whispering into his ear. "Do you know what the discipline of vicissitude can do, Mister Corben?"  
  
"I've heard stories," K.T. said simply. In fact, those "stories" had been nightmare tales of a clan of vampires known as the Tzimisce horribly warping the bodies of their prisoners into hideous creatures. Maria smiled a little as she ran the tips of her fingers along K.T.'s face.  
  
"Do you want to see how close to the truth those stories come?" Maria inquired.  
  
"I think I'll pass," K.T. said. Maria smiled a little as she ran her fingers across his face again.  
  
"Hold on a minute," Terry said, walking back to the table with the medical instruments. Maria stood up and moved back a little, disappointed with having to wait for her chance to go to work on the Gangrel. Terry came forward, holding a small styrofoam cup in his hand. A little steam escaped over the rim of the cup. "Do you know what this is?"  
  
"Mystery soup of the day?" K.T. asked sarcastically. Terry smiled a little.  
  
"Liquid nitrogen," the Sabbat leader told him. He paced around the two tables to Johnny. "I'm sure you're both familiar with the effects of fire on the body of a vampire. Well, it once occurred to me that when liquid nitrogen is poured onto a mortal, the person also suffers burns from severe cold."  
  
Terry leaned down over Johnny, and poured a drop onto the thief's forearm. The drop bounced around and let off a lot of steam, but after only a moment Johnny realized that it wasn't burning him the way Terry had implied.  
  
"It's not so bad," the thief said, a little smugly. Terry smiled.  
  
"No, it isn't," the Sabbat leader agreed. He poured out another drop, this one onto K.T.'s forearm. It started to dance around as it did before, but this time Terry pushed it down with the cup. After a moment, K.T. was screaming in pain as the cold liquid burned into his forearm. Terry leaned down on the cup for a moment, then stood up. K.T. was straining against the strap that held his wrist as a last bit of steam rose up from his burnt arm.  
  
"You fucking son of a bitch!" K.T. snapped through the pain. Terry turned back to Johnny.  
  
"You see," he started, "the rapid evaporation of the nitrogen allows it to, essentially, float on a cushion of air. If I push down on it, however, that cushion is pushed out of the way. Here, you try."  
  
Terry poured a little bit of nitrogen out on Johnny's forehead, then once again pushed it down with the cup. Colbrunn held his head still before the thief could try to shake the liquid off of his head, and in moments he too was screaming, the supercooled nitrogen burning through his skin. Finally, Terry released the thief, and for a long moment he could do nothing more than gasp in pain and shake his head, trying to get rid of the pain.  
  
"I tell you both what," Terry said, walking around the two prisoners. "One of you tell me what I want to know, and I'll let that one off easy. The other one gets tortured until New Year's Day. I think that's a fair deal, don't you?"  
  
"Go fuck yourself," Johnny managed, the last remnants of the pain fading away. Terry turned to him with a smile.  
  
"Colbrunn, hold his eye open," Terry said, returning to the thief's side. Johnny looked up in disbelief for a second, then tried to pull away from the enforcer's grip. Colbrunn held him still, then started to force one eye open.  
  
The sounds of several gunshots stopped Terry before he could reach the thief. All eyes turned to the door form a moment as Gino poked his head outside.  
  
"Shit," Terry said, sounding more irritated than anything else. "What the hell is going on?"  
  
"I don't know," Gino replied, coming back inside the hospital room. Terry shook his head in frustration. "I don't see anyone out there."  
  
"This always happens when I'm getting artistic," he muttered. Then he put down the cup of nitrogen and turned to the other Sabbat. "Colbrunn, Gino, check the hall on this floor. Maria, you're with me. We'll check on Rashad and Tyrone downstairs. Move."  
  
"What about me?" Torrey asked, looking rather expectant.  
  
"Watch these two," Terry replied, looking even more irritated now. "If one of them tries something stupid, put him into torpor with one of the knives."  
  
"But, Terry, I-" the young Toreador started.  
  
"Shut up, childe," Terry retorted. "Watch them. That's an order!"  
  
"Alright," Torrey said dejectedly. The others started out of the room, leaving Torrey alone with the two prisoners. After a long moment, she came back to K.T.  
  
"You're kind of stubborn," the Toreador said, looking him over. "Both of you, actually. I mean, here Terry offers you membership, and you turn him down? Come on, I didn't think Gangrel were that stupid."  
  
"I'm not Gangrel," Johnny pointed out. "I don't even like them. So can I go?"  
  
"Nope, sorry," Torrey said with a smile. She leaned down a little more over K.T., and smiled. "You know, I used to do a little sculpting before I was embraced. I wonder if I still have the touch."  
  
"Go get some clay and find out," K.T. suggested. Torrey smiled a little. There was something in that smile that was colder than the nitrogen that had been poured onto his arm.  
  
"No, not clay," the Toreador said. She pulled up his shirt and ran her hand along his skin for a moment. Then she started to press down, trying to mold the flesh.  
  
And then she was.  
  
K.T. screamed in pain as his skin was taken along by the Toreador's sculpting. For the longest second of his life, he felt more pain than he had thought possible flooding through his chest as Torrey kneaded the skin. Suddenly the pain stopped, and for a long moment he lay there, trying to see what had happened to his body.  
  
"I told her there was someone in the hall," he heard Johnny say quietly. "Do you have a way out?"  
  
"I can reach the straps holding your hand down," K.T. whispered. "I might be able to cut you loose."  
  
"Might?" Johnny repeated. "Might nothing. Get us the fuck out of here, before she does that shit to me!"  
  
"Alright, I'll try," K.T. said, growing his hands into claws. He looked up as Torrey reentered the room.  
  
"What the hell are you trying?" the Toreador asked, grabbing the thief by his face. "What, you want to see what I can do to you? What I did to him was nothing. I'll work on your face."  
  
"I thought I saw someone, I swear," Johnny said, feeling the Gangrel's claws go to work on the straps around his hands. "Sorry if I tried to help you, but I don't feel like dying horribly."  
  
"If you want to help me, just tell me what I want to know," Torrey said, running her fingers along the thief's face.  
  
"Alright," Johnny said, breaking down. "I'll talk."  
  
"This is too easy," Siras said quietly as he and Butterfly made their way up to the front doors of the abandoned east wing of the Letterman U.S. Army Hospital in the middle of the Presidio. For a military installation, Siras noted with disgust that it had been disturbingly easy for him and his grandchilde to get on the grounds and look around. Almost forty-five years ago, something like this would have been punished severely by the former Army captain's superiors, but a lot had changed since the second World War and Siras' days in France and Germany. The older vampire turned back to Butterfly as he tried the doors and found them locked. "Do you think you can unlock it?"  
  
"Yeah," Butterfly replied. "Hold on a second."  
  
The younger vampire made her way up to one of the windows near the front door, and pulled herself in through a cracked windowpane. A moment later she could be heard undoing the heavy locks on the inside of the door, and it swung open for Siras to walk in unopposed. A long corridor stretched into the darkness in front of the two kindred, and for a moment Siras was reminded of the bloody house to house fighting he had taken part in during World War Two on the march into Germany. Drawing one of his .45s, the former soldier started cautiously into the halls, watching for any signs of the anarchs that had taken his childe. He stopped as he heard a terrible scream echo down from the second floor.  
  
"Sounds like someone's getting tortured," Butterfly observed, though now her voice held little of the amusement that it usually did. Siras only nodded, and took a few steps towards a pair of doors that held a staircase about a dozen yards ahead of him. He stopped as he heard a second scream from upstairs, one he recognized as being Johnny's. He moved a little more quickly, deciding that the anarchs had been sloppy or confident enough not to post guards on the ground floor. He had just about made it to the stairs when he saw two young black men, dressed completely in black and with black bandannas, come out of the doors to the staircase.  
  
"Shit!" one of them exclaimed, pulling an AK-47 off of his shoulder. The other one leapt aside and drew a pair of pistols from his belt. Siras managed to put two rounds through the punk with the AK, pushing him back through the doors, but he barely had time to think about the minor victory as the other one fired wildly down the corridor. Butterfly dove into a door on the other side of the hallway as gunfire raked across the wall next to her, then started to shoot back with a snub nosed .38. Siras was about to fire again when the first punk rejoined the fray, spraying bullets down the hall with wild abandon, almost hitting Siras through the wall as the rounds punched through sheet rock and wood.  
  
Terry followed Maria as she vaulted down the steps two at a time, hearing the level of gunfire below him increasing with every step he took. As he reached the bottom step, he saw Rashad, one of the Assamites that had come up with him from San Diego, pull back into the stairwell and drop the spent magazine from his AK-47.  
  
"What the hell is going on?" the Sabbat leader demanded as Rashad turned quickly to him.  
  
"I've never seen them before," the Assamite replied. "They might be some of the prince's men."  
  
"Or maybe the Caitiff wasn't lying," Maria said with a bit of a smirk. Terry shot an angry glance at her, then moved up to the double doors. He saw a blond haired man dodge quickly out of cover, then jump back into the room next to them as Tyrone, the other Assamite across the hall, forced him back with a hail of bullets from his two Glocks.  
  
Siras reached his destination and thumped against the wall with a satisfied smile, then backed away from it. Butterfly was now shooting wildly, keeping the anarchs at bay for a moment while he reloaded. He turned quickly on the wall then, and simply started to shoot through it.  
  
Rashad was about to rejoin the fray when the wall was punctured by gunfire, two of the bullets hitting him and one more grazing Maria's cheek. Instantly both the Toreador and Assamite turned on the wall and ripped it apart, hearing a stifled cry of pain from the other side. Even as they finished firing, however, something rolled to a stop just inside the partially open door.  
  
"Grenade!" Terry exclaimed, seeing the danger first. Rashad turned and threw himself on the explosive as Terry and Maria rushed back up the stairs. In a heartbeat Rashad was nothing more than a red smear across the walls, the grenade effectively decapitating him as it blew his entire abdomen apart. A moment later Tyrone rushed in through the doors, grabbing Rashad's bloodstained weapon and firing back down the hallway.  
  
"Go!" he shouted. "I'll hold them here!"  
  
Terry fell back up the steps, hoping to get Gino and Colbrunn before the two infiltrators could push any farther into the hospital. The Military Police would be at the hospital any moment now, he knew, and he realized that he was just going to have to kill his two prisoners and move everything he had around to different sites. He might even have to leave the city and turn the operations over to one of his blood brothers back in San Diego if his identity had been compromised. A moment later he had found the two enforcers, and started to rush back to the operating room where Johnny and K.T. were being held.  
  
Torrey glanced back to the door as the gunfire escalated outside, then returned her attention to Johnny.  
  
"So, you're the prince's youngest childe, and he embraced you to act as his eyes and ears in the anarch world," Torrey said. "And you and K.T. were working together the whole time."  
  
"Yeah," Johnny said, hiding a wince of pain as one of K.T.'s claws nicked his left wrist. The story was total bullshit, and Johnny could tell that Torrey hadn't bought a word of what he had just tried to sell her, but he didn't care. As long as he kept her attention, she wouldn't notice the fact that K.T. was slicing through the leather straps holding his wrists down. "But I'm getting sick of having to turn over people that are starting to become friends. I was actually thinking about joining the anarchs, but I hear the Sabbat really takes care of their own. Maybe you guys would let me join?"  
  
"I'll think about it," Torrey said. "See? That's all you had to do."  
  
There were two slight snaps as Johnny felt his hands suddenly get cut loose of the leather straps. Torrey heard it too, and her eyes went immediately to the Caitiff's hands. Her eyes went wide as she saw that he was now half free.  
  
"You son of a bitch!" the Toreador exclaimed, grabbing a knife off of the table next to her. She brought the weapon down with tremendous speed, but Johnny managed to catch her wrist and use the momentum to launch her over him, tossing her across the floor on the opposite side of the table. He reached back quickly and managed to unstrap one of K.T.'s hands before she threw herself at him again, knocking him across the operating table and leaving him dangling by his ankles, still bound to the table. She stood up and kicked him viciously in the face twice, then grabbed his shirt and hauled him back up on top of the table. She leaned down over him and exposed her fangs, smiling maliciously while Johnny still tried to figure out where he was.  
  
"Thought you could get free," she snarled, raking her fingernails across his cheek. Then she punched him once. "Now you're really going to get tortured."  
  
"Or you might just get killed," K.T. said. Torrey turned to find the Gangrel on his feet, and before she could move he had torn through her stomach with his claws. She stumbled back with a scream of pain just as something detonated one floor down. K.T. walked slowly over to her, knowing that the damage he had inflicted on her would take days to heal, not to mention more blood than she likely had. She looked up at him with pleading eyes as he stood over her.  
  
"It doesn't have to be like this," Torrey gasped. "We can pay you to switch sides."  
  
"Sorry," K.T. said evenly. "That would be breach of contract."  
  
Without another moment of hesitation, the Gangrel cut through her chest, nearly tearing out her heart. Then he turned back to Johnny, who was simply watching him blankly.  
  
"Breach of contract?" he said, looking at the now dead Toreador. K.T. shrugged.  
  
"It would amount to as much," the Gangrel reasoned. He looked down at his chest, where the skin was badly scarred, making a swirling pattern across his gut. "Fuck me, I hope that comes out."  
  
"Speaking of which, we should be getting out of here," Johnny said as he heard people in the hall. K.T. grabbed his Ruger and his duster, then turned quickly and threw the door open.  
  
And ran right into Terry.  
  
The two vampires looked at each other for a second in shock. Then both reacted at the same time, each one shooting the other high in the chest with their respective weapons. Terry's Glock pushed K.T. back into the room, but the Ruger did far more damage to Terry, and the Sabbat leader was knocked back across the hall, screaming in pain. Maria opened up quickly with her AK, hitting K.T. twice as Johnny slammed the door closed. Even then the gunfire didn't stop. K.T. rushed to one of the windows and tore the rusted metal grate out of the frame, then punched out the glass with the huge revolver.  
  
"Time to go!" the Gangrel exclaimed, jumping out of the window. As he hit the ground he could already see dozens of blue lights heading for the hospital, along with two army trucks, no doubt carrying a platoon of regular soldiers. Johnny hit the ground next to him a moment later, and K.T. started off into the darkness.  
  
"Wait up!" Johnny suddenly shouted. "My sire is the one that tried to spring us!"  
  
"How do you know?" K.T. asked, turning back quickly.  
  
"Because Butterfly was following me!" Johnny shouted. Someone appeared at the window and fired down at the pair, forcing both of them to cover.  
  
"Yeah, well, you want to explain this to a whole bunch of soldiers, you stay and find him," K.T. said as the smaller vampire caught up to him. "I'm blowing this popsicle stand."  
  
Johnny glanced back for a moment, and realized that K.T. was right. There was no way either of them could make it back and find Siras, then get out of the area before the M.P.s tracked the pair down. Reluctantly, and hoping Siras would think that Johnny was smart enough to make his own escape, the Caitiff turned and followed K.T. into the darkness.  
  
  
VIII  
  
K.T. leaned against the side of Hamburger Mary's, watching the traffic roll steadily along the street and wondering who else had gotten out of Letterman Hospital before the M.P.s had arrived. He looked in through the doors of the restaurant and saw Johnny talking on the pay phone inside, then turned back to the traffic and wondered if that meant Siras had escaped. He looked up as Johnny walked out through the glass doors a minute later, balancing a huge cheeseburger, a mound of fries, and a large drink carefully in his hands. He quickly put the food down on a table, and turned to K.T. with the soda.  
  
"Thirsty?" Johnny asked, holding the soda out to K.T. The Gangrel declined with a simple shake of his head and a disgusted look. "Suit yourself," the Caitiff said, then tore into the cheeseburger as if he was actually hungry.  
  
"You get in touch with your sire?" K.T. asked after a moment of watching Johnny shovel food into his mouth. The Caitif looked up and nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he replied after swallowing a large bite of cheeseburger. "Good news, too. He doesn't want to kill you any more."  
  
"I'm ecstatic," K.T. said dryly. "Did you happen to ask if he saw whether the Sabbat were captured or not?"  
  
"They weren't, or at least Siras doesn't think they were," Johnny replied. "You want a fry?"  
  
"No," K.T. said, a bit emphatically. "So do you think you can give me a few ideas as to how to get into Terry's little arsenal in Chinatown?"  
  
"Maybe," the Caitiff replied with a mouthful of food. He swallowed before he continued. "So how'd you become a mercenary?"  
  
"Very carefully," K.T. replied simply. Johnny nodded.  
  
"No, I mean, did you have to do any graduate work for it?" the Caitiff asked. "Did you just up and tell the prince that the next time you did anything for him he would have to pay you?"  
  
"It's complicated," K.T. said. "And not something I like to go in to. So can you help me or not?"  
  
"The question is, why would I want to help you?" Johnny asked in reply. K.T. thought for a moment.  
  
"Get in good with the prince," the Gangrel said. "Feel good about yourself. Get some payback for being used as a slab of meat for torture."  
  
"Not good enough," Johnny said, shaking his head and turning his attention to his fries.  
  
"Ten thousand dollars," K.T. said. The Caitiff looked up.  
  
"Now there's something I can go for," Johnny said with a smile. "I'll break you in myself."  
  
"Just tell me what to do," K.T. said. "You and your eight fingers aren't going to be of much help to me."  
  
"Me and my eight fingers will get you in, or there's no deal," Johnny countered. "Trade secrets aren't something to part with so easily."  
  
"Great," K.T. muttered. "What, are you part of a guild or something?"  
  
"You never know," Johnny said with a smile. He looked up as a car came screeching around the corner, a shotgun sticking out of the side. "Excuse me for a moment."  
  
"Excuse you for a moment?" K.T. exclaimed, seeing the car himself. A moment later the front of Hamburger Mary's was being plastered by shotgun and pistol fire, forcing the pair to dodge for cover around the corner of the building. K.T. heard the car screech to a halt just in front of the restaurant as he drew his Redhawk and peered around the corner. Four men in suits were getting quickly out of the car, each one armed to the teeth. One flashed something that might have been a badge at one of the nearest people, and the bystanders quickly scrambled for cover as the four approached the alley K.T. and Johnny were using as cover. K.T. ducked back behind the building as one man raised his shotgun, but after a moment the Gangrel hadn't heard the gun go off.  
  
"Who the fuck are these guys?" K.T. demanded, turning back to Johnny as the Caitiff regarded the building next to them. "They weren't with Terry last night!"  
  
"I think they might be people that knew my grandsire," Johnny said. "You think you can climb?"  
  
"Climb? People that knew your grandsire?" K.T. repeated, astonished. "What the hell did your grandsire do?"  
  
"Well, he died," Johnny replied hesitantly.  
  
"Come on out, Yashida!" one of the men shouted. Two figures appeared at the mouth of the alley, prompting Johnny to turn and start shooting wildly at them. They ducked back after only a second, firing down the alley and nearly hitting K.T. The Gangrel fired twice down the alley himself, then turned back to Johnny.  
  
"Any bright ideas now?" K.T. demanded.  
  
"Up the wall, natch!" Johnny shouted, climbing up the rough brick and using the dumpster next to him as a boost. K.T. saw someone appear at the mouth of the alley for a moment, and raised his gun and fired. He fell back with a cry of pain, but two more men replaced him, forcing the Gangrel back behind a garbage can as buckshot nearly tore his face off. Finally, Johnny reached the top of the building, and started shooting down at the men in the alley. K.T. jumped up on top of the dumpster, then leapt at the top of the wall himself, just barely catching the edge and holding on for dear life. Johnny grabbed his hand and started to haul him over as K.T. heard the sound of a very large handgun at the alley's entrance. A split second later he felt a terrible pain in his leg, and doubled his efforts to get on top of the building. In a moment he had done so, and bullets started to hit along the top of the wall.  
  
"What the hell did I do?" K.T. asked no one in particular as he emptied the last three cylinders of the Ruger down into the alley. "Why is everyone always shooting at me?"  
  
"Stop whining and come on," Johnny said quickly, heading for the edge of the building and scanning the alley that ran behind the building. "I used to jump rooftops all the time. We can get away this way."  
  
"Wonderful, fucking wonderful," K.T. grumbled, following Johnny as the Caitiff jumped to the next building. The Gangrel glanced back for a moment, then saw one of the men chasing Johnny and kept up the Caitiff's pace as he jumped to another building and raced across that rooftop. They both continued running and jumping across the roofs of San Francisco, their speed doubled by their ability at the discipline of celerity, until they had covered nearly a third of the Mission District by rooftop. Finally, the pair stopped on top of a pool hall on the edge of North Beach. Johnny and K.T. both scanned the rooftops for signs of any movement, but for now it seemed as though the Caitiff's admirers had given up on the chase.  
  
"Okay, start explaining why I took a bullet in the leg from people I don't even know," the Gangrel said, turning on Johnny. The Caitiff shrugged.  
  
"Well, like I said, they knew my grandsire, most likely," Johnny said, as if that would explain everything.  
  
"And?" K.T. pressed, not satisfied with the answer.  
  
"He died," Johnny replied.  
  
"How?" K.T. asked, determined to find out exactly what was going on.  
  
"It's a long story," Johnny said, starting to look for a way down off the roof. K.T. grabbed him by his shoulder.  
  
"I have plenty of time," the Gangrel stated. Johnny thought for a moment, then nodded.  
  
"Okay," the Caitiff said. "My sire was embraced by a Chicago native while he was over in France. They came back, and got to Chi-Town just as a little fight broke out with werewolves. My sire and my grandsire together managed to take down one very pissed off werewolf, but my grandsire died. Unfortunately, my sire wasn't on friendly terms with a couple of Nosferatu in the city, so they decided to blame him for his grandsire's death. My grandsire's sire didn't take that well, and that brings us to the present day."  
  
"Oh, great," K.T. muttered. Johnny patted him on the shoulder.  
  
"Don't hassle it," the Caitiff said. "They're not very good shots."  
  
"Oh really," K.T. said, looking down at the sizeable hole in his jeans. Johnny shrugged apologetically.  
  
"I think we lost them, and they'll go to ground for a little bit," the Caitiff replied after a quick moment of thought. "After all, they probably forgot to present themselves to Archon, and you should know about how well he likes uninvited guests in his city. Now come on, let's stop standing around on the roof and head downstairs. I hear Chalkers is a pretty decent pool hall."  
  
"I have a job to do," K.T. said simply, looking around for the quickest route to Chinatown.  
  
"I know," Johnny said. "And if I want that ten grand you're willing to pay me, so do I. But I think we could both use a moment's rest and a little blood to get us back on the right track. Don't worry, the warehouse'll be there in two hours."  
  
"The warehouse, yes," K.T. said. "I'm not certain about the weapons, though."  
  
"They can't move everything tonight," Johnny concluded, looking down at his watch. "It's already two thirty. They gotta find a place to put it, then get enough trucks to move everything they have. And that's after they get out of Letterman. I mean, that's gonna take at least an hour right there."  
  
"Alright," K.T. said, finally giving in. He hated to admit it, but the Caitiff was right; he was going to need to get a little blood before he tried doing anything else tonight. He followed Johnny down the side of the building to the front entrance, and walked inside the front doors of Chalkers.  
  
Chalkers was a little different from any other pool hall K.T. had ever wandered in to. While it was somewhat dark and littered with tables, the clientele was a bit more pricy and the interior had something of a Victorian feel to it. Johnny quickly wandered into the back of the hall, leaving K.T. to look around idly for a moment. He spotted a cigarette machine at the wall, and dropped in the dollar fifty for a pack of Marlboro Reds. As he lit his first cigarette, something he did these days more out of a dying habit than anything else, Johnny returned, a girl on each arm.  
  
"Hey, K.T., this is Jenny and Diane," the Caitiff said with a grin. "Diane's really into bikes. Aren't you something of a biker?"  
  
"Yeah, I am," K.T., looking over Diane. She was a bit taller than the short Caitiff, with short blond hair and brown eyes that were presently applying a heavy dose of the come hither stare on the Gangrel. She quickly removed her arm from Johnny's and shifted to K.T., wrapping one arm around his waist.  
  
"That's pretty cool," Diane said. "What kind of hog do you ride? I got a beauty of an '83 Harley."  
  
"A 1951 Indian bike," K.T. said as Johnny and Jenny disappeared into the back of the pool hall. Diane's eyes went wide.  
  
"And it still runs?" she asked, shocked. K.T. nodded. "How'd you ever get one?"  
  
"My father owned it," K.T. lied. He had bought it himself in a dealership on the California-Arizona border in 1953. "It's taken a whole lot of maintenance and scrap yard scrounging to keep it going."  
  
"Do you have it here?" Diane asked. "I mean, all Johnny would ever ride was a Suzuki, but a real, working Indian bike? It's gotta be a modern day relic!"  
  
"Yeah, it is," K.T. agreed. "Unfortunately, I left it at my place. What about your bike?"  
  
"Top shape," Diane said proudly. "You want to take a look?"  
  
"I'd kind of like that," K.T. said with a smile. He had the feeling the last thing Diane wanted to show him was her bike, and in all actuality, K.T. didn't have the time to admire a bike that was still, by his standards, fresh out of the show room.  
  
Two hours later, true to Johnny's word, nothing had seemed to have been touched by the Sabbat. Johnny made one last examination of the window he and K.T. were kneeling at, and smiled a little.  
  
"This is child's play," the Caitiff commented, looking over what was to him an obvious and extremely easy to disarm security device. He slid a pair of wire cutters between the window frame and the sill, managed to catch the one wire he wanted, and carefully snipped it. Then he cut out a piece of glass above the lock and reached in to unlock the window. A moment later he pushed it open. "Voila."  
  
"Couldn't just tell me that," K.T. said as he slipped inside the warehouse. Johnny shrugged as he followed the Gangrel in.  
  
"Hey, it got me ten thousand dollars," the Caitiff said.  
  
"Yeah, well, you only get the whole deal if you keep lookout for me," K.T. said. "After getting shot for you, that's the least you can do for me."  
  
"Not a problem," Johnny said, looking around. "Do you know what you're looking for?"  
  
"Yeah," K.T. replied, walking through the aisles of military hardware. He reached the front table, and started to go through some papers on the surface. Johnny waited behind him for a moment, expecting a little bit of clarification.  
  
"So are you going to tell me what you're looking for?" he finally asked, realizing that the Gangrel wasn't about to mention what it was he was searching for.  
  
"Sale documents or receipts," K.T. said, looking up with a slightly irritated expression. "Something that will tell me who the hell it is in Fresno that sent him all this shit. And I need to see if I can find out how many anarchs Terry planned on supplying."  
  
"What? Finding out that the Sabbat is here isn't enough for Archon?" Johnny asked sarcastically.  
  
"I was given four main criteria for information," K.T. said, stopping his search and turning back to Johnny. "One was how many there were. Second was where they were coming from. Third was what their plans were. Fourth was who was supplying them, if anyone. So far, I've accomplished a quarter of what I'm being paid for. Now either keep a lookout or help me go through this shit, alright?"  
  
"Alright," Johnny said, moving up to the table and sifting through some of the documents. After a moment K.T. picked up a small yellow piece of paper, and smiled.  
  
"Make that half of what I'm being paid for," the Gangrel said, stuffing what was apparently a receipt into his pocket. "Did you see anything about disbursement plans for any of this shit?"  
  
"Nope," Johnny replied simply. K.T. nodded, looking a bit disappointed. Then he walked over to some of the crates on the ground. Five had been opened, and all five were empty. In addition, one of the RPK machine guns and two RPGs were gone. Johnny noticed what the Gangrel was looking at, and nodded as he examined the empty crates. "Well, we can figure on twenty, at least," he commented. K.T. turned a sour look on him.  
  
"Alright, we get out of here and call Archon," the Gangrel decided. "He'll have enough contacts in the police to make this a really big bust, or at the least have his boys clean up the mess. Let's get the hell out of here before someone shows up and asks us what we're doing here."  
  
"No argument from me," Johnny said. They had only taken one step back to the window they had broken in through when someone started to unlock the front doors.  
  
"Shit!" Johnny hissed, diving for cover behind the stacks of crates. K.T. did likewise, only a second before the doors opened up and someone walked in.  
  
"Your grandchilde is dead, and still you think we can salvage this," he heard Maria protest. "Don't you think we should pack it up and head back to San Diego? Jonas can try again in another year, and in the meantime you can solidify your position there again!"  
  
"Three quarters," K.T. said quietly to himself. Slowly he started to move toward an RPK that was still in one of open crates. He was searching for an ammunition crate as he heard Terry turn back on his lieutenant.  
  
"We have only lost two!" he suddenly snapped. "We are not to give up just because two of our operatives were killed, even if one was Torrey! When Gino turns the anarchs on Corben as a mercenary hired by Archon, our problems will be over! Do you think they'll believe for a second that we could be Sabbat? They don't even know there's Toreador involved with the Sabbat! They think it's all Lasombra and Tzimisce. We'll be free to move again once he's destroyed."  
  
"I should be out looking for him," K.T. heard Colbrunn say. "Please, Terry, I want to avenge the loss of my sister. Templar or not, I belong out there looking for the mercenary and his slanty-eyed little companion."  
  
K.T. carefully reached into the ammunition crate and pulled a magazine out for the RPK in his hands.  
  
"No, Colbrunn, I need you here," Terry said. "I have the feeling that we'll need to move all of this in a matter of an hour or so. I wish we hadn't lost so much time on the M.P.s at the Presidio, but what's done is done. Get the truck and bring it around to the door. Maria and I will start bringing boxes to the front."  
  
"Yes, my bishop," Colbrunn said. A moment later, the door was heard opening and closing. K.T. crawled over to Johnny as much as he could without being noticed.  
  
"Take Colbrunn," he said quietly. "I'll finish these two off."  
  
"I'm not here to do your dirty work for you," Johnny whispered harshly. "I didn't sign on for that!"  
  
"Come on," K.T. growled. "Just go out there, stick a pipe through his back, and get it over with! I'm the one taking two of them. Just do it!"  
  
"I'll do it for another ten," Johnny bargained.   
  
"I took a bullet for you!" K.T. said, almost allowing his voice to rise up to audible levels. "I helped you with your damn problems, now help me with mine!"  
  
"Five," Johnny said.  
  
"Two," K.T. countered. "I overpaid you for that pissant little security system.  
  
"Alright," Johnny said. He turned and started moving quietly for the window they had come in through. K.T. carefully loaded the RPK as he heard crates get dropped by the front door. As Johnny reached the window and started to crawl through it, K.T. jumped up and opened fire.  
  
The first person he saw was Terry. The Gangrel let loose with the RPK, knocking the Sabbat bishop back into the wall and riddling him with bullets. Maria dropped the crate she was carrying and raced forward, her discipline of celerity making her appear almost as a blur as he turned the gun on her and started to fire. He missed completely as the Toreador jumped over both the burst of fire and the Gangrel as he tried to follow her with the gun. She landed in an acrobatic roll and was on her feet again before K.T. could turn around completely, her first strike with her rapier cutting through his wrist and forearm. K.T. dropped the machine gun and drew his hand back quickly, then realized his mistake as the Toreador kicked the gun aside and continued after him. He tried to go for his Ruger, but Maria's second strike went straight through the Gangrel's forearm, pinning the limb to his chest. The Toreador ripped the rapier free a moment later and quickly slashed through his duster and his holster, cutting the Gangrel's gun free. The Ruger dropped to the ground before K.T. could even try to grab it with his one good arm. Maria backed him up another step, feinting with the rapier even as she drew a long, slim dagger from a hidden sheath on her waist.  
  
"The ability to fight with rapier and main-gauche is often considered an art," Maria said as she slowly moved in for the kill. "And any fool knows that Toreador excel at art. The way I look at it, Gangrel, you're absolutely dead."  
  
A cold smile crossed Maria's face as she took another step forward. K.T. backed up another step, realizing that he was starting to run out of room.  
  
Johnny had made it halfway around the building when he heard K.T. open fire inside the warehouse. He had sprinted the rest of the way to the front, where Colbrunn was reaching back into the truck and grabbing his AK-47 off of the passenger seat of the truck. Drawing his knife, Johnny charged at the Sabbat templar, intent on landing a quick, debilitating hit before Colbrunn could react to his presence. At the last moment, however, Colbrunn turned and tried to raise his gun. The burst of fire from the AK went wide as Johnny landed a wicked slash along the man's face and neck, but it was hardly the strike the Caitiff had wanted. Colbrunn waved the AK back in front of him, knocking Johnny's knife away from him, then tried to back into the truck to get enough room to bring the gun to bear on the thief. Johnny jumped back and quickly dodged behind a dumpster as the templar opened up on him, tearing through the metal container and almost hitting him through the shoulder and head.  
  
"Come on out!" Colbrunn shouted. "Don't make me come back there and get you, or I'll be really upset!"  
  
"Shouldn't you be checking up on Terry?" Johnny asked, hoping that the Sabbat would think of his leader before finishing Johnny off.  
  
"There's two templars so that we can take care of two assassins!" Colbrunn shouted. Johnny could tell the voice was nearer; the Sabbat was slowly making his way around the dumpster as he tried to keep Johnny occupied with conversation. "I think I have enough time to deal with you!"  
  
Colbrunn reached the corner of the dumpster, and braced himself for a second. Then he whirled around the dumpster and opened up, but stopped as he realized he was shooting nothing but the wall in front of him. Quickly he looked back to the alley, but the inky blackness there wasn't giving away who might be hiding in it. The templar moved to it silently, ready to shoot should anything emerge from the darkness. As he watched the darkness, Colbrunn quickly came to the realization that it wasn't natural. Quickly he raised his gun and opened up, hearing a scream of pain as he hit his intended target.  
  
Maria lunged quickly, almost catching K.T. as he rolled under the strike and to the left. That wasn't nearly the extent of Maria's attack, however, and she turned quickly with the Gangrel, the rapier slashing away as she kept up with K.T.'s frantic backpedaling.  
  
"Come on, Gangrel," Maria taunted as she slashed again with the rapier. K.T. dodged out of the way of the long blade, only to take a glancing hit along his arm by the main-gauche. "Gangrel are always looking for a straight up fight. Here's your chance, Gangrel. Why are you backing away so much?"  
  
"Give me a second, and I'll show you," K.T. replied, avoiding another jab of the rapier. In a move born of overconfidence, Maria lunged forward with the main-gauche as well, slicing into the Gangrel's shoulder, drawing a thin red line almost to his elbow. She smiled maliciously as she raised her rapier again to decapitate K.T., but as the Gangrel ducked under the swing he raked forward. Maria remembered only a moment too late that the Gangrel could morph his hands into long, sharp claws, and she stumbled backwards as she took two horrible gashes along her chest. The Toreador dropped to her knees, almost unable to stand through the pain and damage she had sustained. She tried to roll away from the next strike, but K.T. was far too fast for the badly injured woman. The last thing Maria saw before her unlife ended was the Gangrel's claws driving into her face.  
  
K.T. had about a second to relax before he was shot from behind.  
  
Johnny stumbled back through the alley, already trying to heal the injuries he had sustained when Colbrunn had blindly fired through the dark shroud he had created. The Caitiff drew his Beretta and backed up behind another dumpster, pushing himself between it and the wall. Calling upon his obtenebration, the ability to control darkness and the shadows, Johnny lengthened and darkened the shadows around him, hoping that Colbrunn wouldn't see him until it was too late. He heard a shotgun go off inside, but he had problems of his own to deal with before he could run in and try to help K.T. He heard Colbrunn enter the alley and start to slowly push over garbage cans as he looked for the thief. The noise got closer and closer, until the Caitiff could see the templar's feet on the other side of the dumpster.  
  
"Come on out, Johnny," Colbrunn called out, glancing around the alley. If the anarch was good at anything, it seemed to be hiding. While there didn't seem to be many places for an anarch to disappear into back in the alley, Johnny had completely vanished. "Maybe if you do, I'll make it easy on you. I'll kill you here, before Terry and Maria rip into you for killing Torrey."  
  
Colbrunn waited for a moment, hoping that the anarch would listen to him, but it seemed as though that wasn't going to happen. He took a few more steps into the darkness, glancing behind a stack of cardboard. Still no one. He turned when he reached the end of the alley, and suddenly took three bullets in the middle of his chest.  
  
Johnny moved quickly while the templar was down, trying to close the distance as he fired again and again at Colbrunn. The Toreador tried to roll out of the way, but Johnny kept on firing, hitting him again in the shoulder and the leg as he emptied his magazine. As he did so, Johnny threw the weapon aside and pounced on Colbrunn, punching as quickly as he could at the templar's face, breaking his nose on the second shot and knocking out teeth on the third. He kept on pounding until the templar stopped moving, and Johnny slowed down, thinking he had won the fight.  
  
A moment later he realized how wrong he was.  
  
Colbrunn was near to blacking out when the anarch stopped hitting him. Feigning unconsciousness for only a second, the templar drew a knife belted on his waist and slashed as soon as Johnny backed off an inch. The anarch fell backwards as the knife cut deeply through the smaller man's gut, but Colbrunn was wasting no time in finishing his victim off. He sprang to his feet, taking only a brief moment to try and heal the worst of the damage he had taken, and then threw himself straight at the prone anarch. Johnny scrambled right, feeling something move under him as the templar slammed his knife into the ground where Johnny's chest had been only a moment ago. As the Caitiff scrambled to his feet, he picked up the object he had rolled over and turned it on the templar.  
  
Colbrunn stopped as he saw Johnny, still trying to hold in some of his intestines, raise the templar's AK-47 and take quick aim. At this range, the anarch wasn't going to miss. Before Colbrunn could even try to jump out of the way, Johnny was already emptying the magazine into his face and chest. Ten seconds later, the clip was empty and Colbrunn was a mess of blood and torn flesh on the ground ten feet away. The damage this time had, hopefully, been enough to drive the templar into torpor, a state of near death that he would need at least a few days to recover from. Staggering to his feet, Johnny stumbled to Colbrunn's body and drank what little blood was left in the Sabbat vampire's body. When he finished, he sat down next to the body, and patted it on what was left of the chest.  
  
"That's what you get," Johnny gasped, almost ready to collapse himself.  
  
"Come on out," Terry called out, stalking through the piles of crates that dominated the warehouse. He slowly looked down each aisle of boxes, his heightened senses listening for anything that might be the Gangrel mercenary in hiding. "I know you're here. Come on out and take what's coming to you."  
  
"I'd rather not," K.T. called out from his hiding place. He was holding his side in pain where Terry's shot had hit him; the shotgun was loaded with phosphorus rounds, which burned the wounds as they were made. Because of that, it would take K.T. at least a few days, and a lot of blood, to heal the damage he had taken from one shotgun blast. Terry had apparently completely healed the damage that K.T. had hoped would send the bishop into torpor, and was now hunting the Gangrel down. "Although I might if you drop the gun."  
  
I think it evens the score, don't you?" Terry asked, his voice edged with anger. "I mean, you have those claws. Those claws that took the lives of my childe and my grandchilde. And when I find you, you little fuck, I'm going to take your life!"  
  
"You sound kind of angry," K.T. called out, hoping to unhinge the bishop even more. If he was going to survive this fight, he was going to need every edge he could get.  
  
"You mother fucker!" Terry screamed in rage. Shotgun blasts tore through the crates, coming even closer than K.T. had expected. He jumped to one side quickly, barely avoiding a pair of phosphorus rounds that sliced through the crates he had been hiding behind. His jump didn't carry him as far as he wanted, however, and K.T. suddenly looked up to see Terry aiming the shotgun down at him from point blank range.   
  
"Now, K.T., I get my revenge on you," the Toreador growled with an evil smile. "You almost destroyed everything I worked to create here. Do you think I'm going to kill you?"  
  
"What else would you want to do?" K.T. asked, trying to back up a little.  
  
"Oh, I may kill you," Terry said. "Eventually. But first, you're going to pay for what you've done."  
  
Terry aimed low, ready to take K.T.'s leg off at the knee with his next shot. K.T. tried to move out of the way, but the bishop had him dead to rights. He squeezed the trigger with a grin, thinking of his revenge.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
"Fuck!" Terry exclaimed. K.T. stared at him for a second.  
  
"No more slugs," the Gangrel said. He jumped as quickly as he could, hoping to land a debilitating strike before the Toreador could adjust to the situation.  
  
He was almost there when Terry simply swung the shotgun like a club. The barrel connected squarely with K.T.'s jaw, loosening some teeth and possibly fracturing the bone. The Gangrel was thrown left with the shot, and Terry followed, now holding the gun by the barrel and using the stock as a high tech club. The Toreador slammed the stock into the ground where K.T. was, but the Gangrel was already rolling, trying to get out of the way of the shotgun as Terry struck again and again. Finally, he rolled back to where he had originally fought Maria, and felt his Ruger under him. Terry grabbed for the RPK that K.T. had used on him only a few minutes ago, bringing the weapon to bear quickly on the Gangrel even as K.T. raised the Ruger. Both stopped in mid motion.  
  
"Hope there's bullets in that one," K.T. said, grinning a little. "I fired a whole bunch of rounds into you before."  
  
"Maybe it's time to check the odds," Terry said. He started to pull the trigger.  
  
K.T. rolled aside as a burst of rounds hit the ground where he had been. Terry moved with him, the last bullets catching K.T. in the shoulder even as he fired the Ruger twice. Both of the .44 slugs hit Terry in the face, blowing the back of his head out across the crates behind him. The bishop dropped to his knees as K.T. was spun around. For a long moment neither one moved.  
  
Johnny opened the door to the warehouse and staggered inside to see K.T. face down on the floor and Terry's faceless body resting against the crates where he had fallen. After a moment he stumbled over to the Gangrel's side, and kicked the body lightly in the chest.  
  
"Ow," K.T. grumbled into the concrete floor.  
  
"You lived," Johnny said with a bit of a smile. K.T. rolled over slowly, the massive injuries he had taken no longer healing. "Well, almost lived."  
  
"Hah hah," K.T. said, coughing up a little bit of blood. "Think you can help me stand up?"  
  
"That'll cost you a little more money," Johnny said with a bit of a grin.  
  
"I won't shoot you," K.T. said. Johnny laughed a little.  
  
"Can you lift that gun any more?" the Caitiff asked. He looked back to the doors as he heard the sounds of sirens in the distance.  
  
"Maybe," K.T. said. He started to try and get to his feet, but nearly fell until Johnny caught him. "Or maybe not. There's one last thing I need you to do."  
  
"What?" Johnny asked, curious.  
  
"If you got Colbrunn, bring his body inside, so that all the bodies are destroyed in the explosion," K.T. said. "Masquerade and all."  
  
"Sure," Johnny said, hurrying outside. He grabbed what was left of Colbrunn and dragged him inside as K.T. went to work setting a charge of C-4 in the middle of the weapons. Finally, the two left, just as the cops started to show up in the alley.  
  
"Well, here goes," K.T. said, holding a detonator in his hand. "Hope you guys didn't enter the place yet."  
  
A moment later, a blossom of fire erupted inside the warehouse, blowing out every window in a three block radius and throwing a lot of police officers back over their cruisers. K.T. could only hope that he did not seriously injure any of the police in the explosion.  
  
  
IX  
  
"You did a remarkable job," Archon said as he looked over the beaten up Gangrel sitting in front of him. K.T. had even spent a day healing the injuries he had taken, but the phosphorus wounds he had taken were going to need a little more time to heal completely. "I'd like to thank you on behalf of all the kindred in the city."  
  
"Don't thank me," K.T. said, leaning back in the chair in the office above the Haven. "Just pay me."  
  
"Of course," Archon said, gesturing to Stevie Ray. The prince's enforcer stepped forward, holding a black briefcase. Archon waved him to a stop as the Gangrel was about to hand over the briefcase. "But there was one thing I was wondering about."  
  
"Which is?" K.T. inquired, not wanting to be held up in the office any longer than he had to be.  
  
"Two nights ago, someone broke into an office in Pasquale Ianetti," Archon said. "Several disks with sensitive information were stolen. Cash and Shelly, Mister Ray's first two childer, described one of the thieves as someone who looked very much like you. Do you know what might have happened to those disks?"  
  
"All I can say is that you might want to consider changing some account numbers," K.T. said. He made a mental note to let Ambrose know that the information was going to be out of date very soon. "I think the anarchs got away with them."  
  
"How unfortunate," Archon said, though his expression told the mercenary that the prince wasn't completely buying that line. "If you happen to see those two anarchs, just see if you can get the disks back."  
  
"I'll see," K.T. said. "Now, as for my payment?"  
  
Stevie Ray glanced to Archon. The prince nodded, and the Gangrel enforcer handed the briefcase over. K.T. opened it up, and looked over the stacks of hundreds inside.  
  
"One million, two hundred fifty thousand dollars, as was agreed," Archon said. "Count them if you like."  
  
"There's one more payment you have to make," K.T. said evenly, closing the briefcase. Archon looked at him quizzically.  
  
"What would that be?" the prince inquired. K.T. said nothing, but placed his torn duster on the desk. Archon smiled. "Ah, yes. Mister Ray, give Mister Corben his final payment."  
  
Stevie Ray took a black duster out of the closet set next to the door, and dropped it unceremoniously on K.T.'s lap. The Gangrel stood up, and pulled the new coat over his shoulders.  
  
"Not a bad fit," K.T. said. "Though I would have preferred brown."  
  
"There were no brown ones left in your size," Archon said apologetically. "So, will you be staying in the city any longer? Though your information did root out most of the rest of the anarchs in two of the gangs, there is still a third one on the loose, coming in from Oakland and using the weapons the Sabbat brought in. We could use a little surveillance across the bay."  
  
"I'll think about it," K.T. said. "Right now I think I could use a little time to heal."  
  
"Understandable," Archon said. "Have a good night, Mister Corben, and I'll be in touch a little later in the week to negotiate another deal."  
  
"By the way," K.T. said, turning back to the prince, "one of the Sabbat managed to get away. A man named Gino. He was passing himself off as a Brujah."  
  
"A Brujah," Archon said, considering the implications. K.T. shook his head.  
  
"Not one of Fiori's," the Gangrel clarified. "If I see him, I'll make sure to point him out to the nearest Camarilla I see."  
  
"Yes, please do that," Archon said. K.T. turned and walked out of the office. After a moment, Archon turned to Stevie Ray.  
  
"Mister Ray, send Julian in," the prince said. Stevie Ray turned and left the office. Archon waited for only a couple of minutes before a tall, black haired man walked into the office, his dark eyes examining the room quickly for any signs of a disturbance.  
  
"Yes?" the man asked, flattening out the black turtleneck he wore under a gray suit jacket. Just under the jacket, a pair of Berettas were carefully concealed.  
  
"Julian," Archon said with a bit of a smile. Then he grew serious. "There is a problem."  
  
"What is it?" Julian Luna asked.  
  
"There is a Sabbat Brujah hiding in Manzanita," Archon said. "The Brujah there know he is Sabbat. I want you to wipe them out, before they become a true threat to us."  
  
"As you wish," Julian said without a trace of emotion. Quickly the prince's enforcer walked out of the room to prepare for the battle he would wage against his sire's enemies. As he did so, Archon folded his hands on the desk, and thought things over. He had turned back a full scale Sabbat assault with the expenditure of only one and a quarter million dollars and no lives lost. An excellent business venture, indeed.  



End file.
